And then some
by dreamsofming
Summary: A sequel to 13 Beers by mingsmommy. Post 7X14, AU thereafter. How Grissom and Sara work to save their relationship with a little help from a friend. NC17 version previously posted on GeekFiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns CSI or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the _**worst**_ way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to m_ingsmommy's_ _**13 Beers**_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

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**CHAPTER 1 – And Then Some...Aspirin**

Brass closed the door softly, though he doubted she would wake if he full on slammed it. Sighing heavily, he removed a quilt and extra pillow from the linen closet and shuffled towards the sofa. He threw the bedding down on the sofa and thought maybe he'd better do the sensible thing and down some water and aspirin himself. While neither of them had to get up to go to work, there was no point in not taking preventive measures against the inevitable hangover.

The kitchen was still clean, even drinking and getting drunk Sara was a neat freak. The only things out of place were the dictionary she had placed on the counter and her cell phone, still resting against the back door. It had rung intermittently throughout the morning and into the afternoon.

After the first phone call she had not checked the caller id, she had merely ignored it. At one point she had grumbled, "Damn! I keep meaning to shut that off." She had turned and pointed to him. "Remind me next time I get up." But she had broken down before she had risen again and when she had stood, with his help, she was too inebriated and exhausted from crying to spare the phone a glance.

He stared intently at the phone for a long while, willing it to ring. It did not comply.

After long minutes, he walked to the back door, checked the locks and bent down to retrieve her phone. The screen read: 7 missed calls. He twisted his lips as he seriously contemplated invading her privacy, just to see if all seven calls had been from Grissom.

And if they were? What then? He had Grissom on speed dial on his own phone, he didn't need Sara's to…

Fate took the decision out of his hands as the phone in his hand began to ring, even as he stared at it. The display lit up: Grissom Cell.

He answered the call and began talking. "You know, for a guy who makes his living gathering clues, you don't seem to have much of one."

"Brass?" Brass could hear the shock and trace of concern in Grissom's voice.

"That, my probationary friend, would be me." He opened up the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.

"Where is Sara?" There was a slight pause, then Grissom hurriedly asked, "Oh my god, is she alright?"

The detective was pleased to hear alarm bordering on panic in the scientist's voice, but he didn't waste time putting his mind at ease. "Other than the fact her significant other is a giant horse's ass, she's fine." He could almost feel Grissom's switch from urgent concern for Sara to sudden aggravation with him vibrating through the silence on the phone.

The silence stretched for just a bit, then Grissom carefully asked, "May I speak with Sara please?" as if each word were glass and the rub of any emotion would shatter any or all of them leaving him with a mouthful of sharply pointed shards.

"No, she's asleep," Brass replied cheerily, thoroughly enjoying thwarting the other man's wishes. "And I would think, if she wanted to talk to you, she would have answered the phone one of the seven times you've called today already."

Another loud silence vibrated over the phone line. Then, Grissom cautiously asked, "What's going on Brass? Are you at the townhouse?"

"Nope," he took a swig of water, popped three aspirin into his mouth and chewed on them, enjoying the deep bitterness spreading over his tongue. "And neither is Sara. And from what I gather she has no plans to go back."

A sound of frustrated anger came across 2700 miles. "Look, I know she's upset, but this really isn't any of your business and she shouldn't have.."

"You know what? This isn't your rodeo anymore. So, listen up." He took great satisfaction in Grissom's sudden, startled silence. "I have been a cop for over thirty years, I have been in some ugly situations, seen a lot of awful crap…but I have never seen a woman cry as hard as Sara cried today. And I never want to see anyone cry that hard again." He thought for a second. "Unless it's you."

"She was crying?" Gil's voice had lost its surety and strength. Instead, it sounded small and full of regret.

"A lot." Brass's shirt was still slightly damp from where she had pressed her face against him as she wept. "She was crying a lot."

"Is she OK?" Soft, genuine concern sounded over the phone.

Brass ignored the question for the moment. "You know, when I figured out you two were together, I was pretty happy about it. I knew the kid had it bad for you and you were my friend, I thought you were almost good enough for her." He took another drink of water. "So, yeah, I thought it was a good deal for both of you…figured I'd give her away at the wedding, get to be godfather to the little geeks."

"Brass…" Grissom sounded tired.

"Shut up, OK? I'm telling you something here." Brass rubbed a heavy hand across his forehead and down his face. "You know when I was recovering she came to visit me quite a few times. And we talked a lot. She eventually told me about her parents." He let that sink in for a few seconds before continuing, "And you know what? Thinking back on the way you've treated this girl over the years with all your push-me-pull-you bullshit and this latest stunt of yours and I'm thinkin' you're no better than her old man."

Grissom's response was swift. "I have never abused Sara." He sounded horrified and, strangely, frightened.

"So, you're not hitting her, but what you're doing is every bit as abusive…her bruises just aren't visible." He held his bottle up to eye level and studied the remaining water. "You know, she wants to cut you a break because of the job. I hope she doesn't. I hope she holds your fucking feet to the fucking fire. 'Cause, you know what? You might be the best guy around at dealing with death…but she shouldn't have to pay because you suck at living. She shouldn't be hurting because you're scared to death of having a life."

There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Finally, Grissom's voice came over, quietly, "Will you tell her I called?"

Brass shook his head even though he knew the scientist couldn't see him. "No can do." His voice, again, resumed its cheery quality. "I'm going to give you a chance to fix this and that chance is useless if she knows I let you in on how torn up she is." He laughed out a lie. "Hell, I'm pretty drunk, I won't even remember this conversation when I wake up." He drained the remainder of the water. "But, if you don't fix this, you better understand, if you hurt her again, I will rip your head off and hand it to you, right before I take a crap down your neck." He chuckled, bitterly. "I know you're not scared of me. So, I'm not saying all this to strong arm you, I'm just letting you know, no matter what happens, I love that girl and you're not gonna hurt her again. You got me?"

The response was deliberate and genuine. "I got you."

Brass sighed. "Good."

"Brass?"

"Yeah?" He really just wanted to crawl on to the sofa and go to sleep now that he had said what he needed to say.

Grissom sounded weary as well. "Thanks…I mean, you know, thanks for caring enough about her…" he stumbled to a halt.

Brass smirked and finished Grissom's sentence. "To kick your ass? Sure, Buddy. What are friends for?"

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Neither one of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. Neither one of us is making any money from this. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the _**worst **_way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy's_ _**13 Beers**_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

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**CHAPTER 2 – And Then Some...Bourbon**

The room was rustic…more cabin than dorm…with exposed beams, early American furniture, braided rugs and a stone fireplace. Despite the crackling fire Grissom was chilled to the bone.

Brass had managed, with his frank words, to sweep away the fog that had been clouding his brain for months leaving him with a not very pleasant picture of himself to contemplate.

"I _am_ a horse's ass," he mumbled as he rose from the club chair, grabbed his outdoor things and stormed into the night.

The campus at Williams College was blanketed in new fallen snow as yet unspoiled by footprints. Grissom huffed a bit as he shrugged into his coat and scarf, quickly pulling on his gloves and jamming his hat on his head. What might have been a serene and thoughtful stroll was just cold locomotion. Brass's words echoed in his ears…

_… I'm thinkin' you're no better than her old man…_

He quickened his pace until he was nearly running, but still the words pressed down on him…

_… she shouldn't have to pay because you suck at living…_

"_Oh, Sara,"_ he thought sadly, _"What have I done?"_

Grissom's path had taken him toward town and a little pub he frequented. Somewhat surprised to find it open he paused a few moments before entering, wondering if a drink would warm him up. Knowing it wouldn't but wanting to take the edge off his guilt, he went in.

A straight bourbon slid into his line of sight as he struggled with his gloves. Laying them on the counter he caught the bartender's eye, "Keep them coming, Mike."

Mike O'Hanlon nodded and went back to drying barware, silently studying the man who sat so heavily at the end of his bar. He always came alone, never spoke unless asking for service and always left a generous tip. That was enough to distinguish him from his regulars, mostly Williams students and faculty, but the aura of discord around the man was palpable. Despite his seemingly placid expression, he was one big jangled nerve. All the bourbon seemed to do for him was lower the volume…he never seemed to sink into the oblivion five or six shots ought to afford him.

As each shot burned down his throat, Grissom thought of Sara and cursed himself for his arrogance.

When two a.m. rolled around, he settled the tab and tried to put on his gloves without much success.

Like an apparition, the bartender floated into his field of view. "Shall I call a cab for you?"

He stared dumbly at the talking head, trying to make out the question and formulate a response when new words drifted toward him. "I'm calling a cab…you're in no shape to drive, sir."

Grissom's brow furrowed as he tried to remember where he'd parked his car, not realizing he'd arrived at the pub on foot. He mumbled, "It's a sin to kill a mockingbird…"

Morning broke and Grissom's head broke with it. He hadn't been hung over in years, but it was every bit as bad as he remembered. Sitting up on the side of the bed, he looked down at himself still clad in his overcoat and shook his head. Big mistake.

When the room stopped spinning he stumbled to the bathroom in search of aspirin. Downing four, he glanced in the mirror and grimaced. "You are _still_ a horse's ass."

Once some coffee was brewing in the kitchenette, he logged on to his computer looking for flights back to Las Vegas. Some time in his drunken soul searching last night he'd realized he had to go home. It was the first purposeful action he taken in months.

A quick call to the Dean and he was set. Not bothering to pack a bag, he looked around for his coat and realized he was still wearing it. Unable to find his hat or gloves, Grissom shrugged, then took one last look at his academic career before plunging into the unknown.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Neither one of us owns CSI or any of its characters. Neither one of us is making any money from this. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the _**worst **_way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to m_ingsmommy's_ _**13 Beers**_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

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**CHAPTER 3 – And Then Some...Pain**

She was dozing on her couch, floating in and out of dreams filled with shifting images, kaleidoscopic swings of colors and conversations.

Though she had slept for almost 11 hours at Brass's house, she had spent the majority of her night and day off taking intermittent naps. Of course, she had barely slept since Grissom had dropped his emotional atom bomb into the middle of her life. She supposed after weeks of only a few hours sleep a day, then getting drunk and breaking down, her body needed the rest.

Even as she processed her thoughts of sleep, rejuvenation and recovery she was walking through a dream with her father where he was explaining it had been a mistake and he wasn't really dead. A phone began to ring in her living room and, then, in the dream. Her father tilted his head inquiringly toward the sound and without contemplating consequences, before she was out of the dream and awake she had pushed the "Talk" button on her landline. "'Lo?"

There was a brief silence and as she came to consciousness she briefly wondered if the phone had only been ringing in her dream. Then his voice invaded her ear. "Sara…"

The way he said her name sounded so sad, almost as if he was in pain. She was unprepared for the clench of her heart and the hurt she felt knowing he was hurting. "Grissom, hi…uh, hello." She stumbled awkwardly over her words, afraid and unprepared.

"Sara…" he breathed her name again, making it sound like both a plea for mercy and a prayer of thanksgiving. "Thank god you answered…you haven't…I didn't know…" Now he was the one stumbling and she wasn't surprised when he stopped trying to speak; but she closed her eyes and listened to him breathe over the phone.

She swallowed. It was so unfair. She loved him with every cell in her body, every particle of her being and she was so mad at him and hurt that she didn't know what to do with it and all she could do was listen to him breathe hoping his breath would touch and heal all the raw and aching places in her soul. How could she want his comfort when he was the cause of her pain? As tears leaked from under her eyelids, she decided she hated him and herself.

"Sara…" he began again, softly. "Sweetheart, are you alright?" Behind his voice she could hear other voices and the sound of constant movement; he was obviously in a public place. That was not like Grissom, to call her from someplace he could be overheard.

"Of course, I'm alright," she tried to make her tone dismissive. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He hesitated. "Because I haven't spoken to you in nine days. You won't answer my calls, you don't return my messages." There was no accusation in his words; they were a simple statement of fact, reasons why he might be concerned for her.

She sighed, "Grissom, I don't think…" she heard a crackle and hiss and what sounded like someone on a loud speaker. "Where are you?"

"Logan." She could tell he was walking, probably to find a quiet corner to continue their conversation.

"Logan? Logan International Airport?" Her voice rose slightly in confusion and inquiry.

"Yes."

She heard what sounded like a door opening and closing and the background noise lessened considerably.

"What are you doing at the airport?" She sat up on the sofa slowly.

"I'm coming…" he stopped and sighed heavily, "I was trying to get home to you, but some moron jumped security and the airport is in lockdown. All flights are grounded, no one can leave the airport." Each word was wrapped in frustration.

"You were coming home? To Vegas?" Sara felt the beating of her heart pick up tempo.

"I was coming home to you." The pitch of his voice lowered. "Home is wherever you are, Sara." She felt more tears falling and impatiently wiped them away with the back of her hand.

She fought for her voice to remain steady. "You have almost three weeks left on the seminar."

She heard the hitch in his voice as he rejoined "Screw the seminar. I should never have left you." The slightest pause. "Not like this."

Anger and pain and compassion and love were all battling in her chest. "Maybe, maybe not. But you did." She stood and began pacing her living room.

He made a regretful sound. "Honey, I know I hurt you and I'm so sorry. I didn't…the way I did everything, leaving…it was all wrong…I never meant to hurt you."

She took in a shuddering breath; despite everything, she hated hearing the anguish and regret in his voice. "I know you didn't hurt me deliberately, Gil; but it made me see…I don't think we had the same expectations for our relationship. You never…"

"Sara…"

"I need you to let me get this out, Ok? I need you to listen…can you do that?" She knew she didn't sound calm, but if he wanted to talk, he was going to have to listen.

He answered in a voice that held a wealth of anxiety in one word. "Yes."

She swallowed and told herself to calm down. She stopped pacing. "I knew things were bothering you. The last few months have been really hard on you. The serial murders, Carl Fisher, Ernie Dell's suicide, the emotional fall out with Cath and Sam and all of the other day to day stuff our jobs bring us. I knew it was all building up…I knew you were hurting. But every time I asked you if you wanted to talk, if something was bothering you…" Her voice shook and she wrestled herself for control. "You said, 'No.' Then," she took a shuddering breath, "you just tell me you're going away for a month…"

She gave a small, ironic laugh as she rested her forehead against one of her bookcases, "You want to hear something funny? Well, not funny, funny more like embarrassing funny. For a minute, I thought you actually wanted me to go with you. But you didn't." She shook her head to clear it, "And you never talked to me about any of it, never asked me for my opinion, never asked if it was OK with me, you just said you needed to get away and you left…home."

"Honey, I…"

"I'm not through." She swallowed past the thick lump in her throat. "I need to get it all out…it's probably not a conversation we should have on the phone, but…" She sighed and resumed pacing. "I can understand all of it getting to you…it's a lot to deal with, but I keep asking myself…why now? You've been dealing with crime and death and all the horrible things human beings can do to each other for over twenty-five years, so, I have to ask myself, what's different now? And you know the only answer I can think of?" To her horror the last word ended on a small sob. "Me. The only thing that's different about your life is me." She leaned weakly against the wall. "So, yeah, I get it, I thought what we had…" She had to stop speaking to prevent herself from crying.

"Oh, god, Sara, no…please, no, don't think that…I…" his voice was desperate even as it tried to be soothing. "I didn't handle it well…I know…I just didn't want..."

He paused as though he were searching for just the right words. "I…love you." She felt her heart stop and then resume beating frenetically. "I know I've never said that aloud before, but, I thought or I hoped…you knew." He gave a small sigh and continued softly, with a little sadness in his tone. "I've wanted to tell you so many times and no time seemed right enough, good enough, romantic enough to make it seem…worthy of you." She was sure she heard him swallow. "And you're right, you are what's different…I've gone most of my life feeling distant from my emotions…I could feel compassion and love and sympathy but not up close. And then you were there and I love you and it makes everything richer and more beautiful. But it also makes all the bad stuff harder and uglier and more painful. Every time somebody dies now, I have to think about the people that love them, how much it must hurt…to lose what gives your life meaning."

His voice was more sure, less desperate, as he continued, "You are that thing for me, Sara. I can't believe I've gone this many years…I feel like I've only been half alive…and all the cases from the past are coming back to haunt me…what about the people that loved those victims? I needed a break from the job…not from you. I need to learn how to do my job again, now that I'm really living, not just going through the motions."

She took a deep meditative breath and released it slowly. She believed him; this was more talking than he had done in months. More than he had said in the last two months put together. "You didn't even tell me about the offer until you accepted. You didn't tell me you were thinking of getting away until you were halfway out the door." She opened her refrigerator door and stared, blindly, at the contents. "That's not what love looks like, Grissom." She closed the refrigerator door. "That's not what people in a committed relationship do."

"I'm sorry…I wasn't…I didn't…" He was stumbling over his words again and she suspected he knew there was no excuse good enough.

"Grissom," She took another deep breath and steeled herself, "I'm not going to be one of those women who keeps getting…hurt and then forgives it with a few words and promises until it happens again. I won't be that woman, Gil, I _can't_ be that woman." She tried to ignore the pain in her chest and the rolling nausea in her stomach.

She heard his sharply drawn breath but there was a pause before he spoke again. "I'll come home; we'll go to counseling."

She felt the doubt overwhelm her. This was huge. It was not out of character for him to recognize counseling would help, but it was out of character for him to be willing to go.

What if it was a ploy? Not that he was devious, but what if once she agreed and he came home and things got back to normal the idea of counseling was put away. What if all he wanted was her forgiveness and he would say anything right now to get it?

She hated herself that she was so suspicious, hated herself that she couldn't trust her own judgment where the man she loved was concerned. She hated him, too, that she had gotten to this place in her life, in their relationship where she had to weigh what was more painful: living with him or living without him. She hated the patterns and the parents that had taught them to her. Why did doing the right thing feel wrong? Why did doing what was healthy hurt?

She tugged the refrigerator door open again and really looked this time at the contents. Milk, past its prime, Chinese take out older than the milk, a cube of tofu, a jar of olives, a bottle of unopened soy sauce, 6 bottles of water, 3 bottles of beer.

"I'm not…" she began hesitantly, but continued in a rush, "I'm not saying this to hurt you, but I think you should stay there for now; the damage is done here and you coming back early isn't going to fix it." She contemplated the bottles of beer even as she heard him make a sound of protest. "Go back to Williams, finish your seminar. Whatever part I and our relationship played in your leaving? Doesn't really matter. Things were bad enough you had to get away. No matter where we end up, you need to get your head on straight or distance yourself or whatever it is you're trying to do." She chewed on the corner of her lip and her voice was softer than it had been is weeks. "You need to get better, Babe. You get better, whatever that takes and then, when you get home, we'll see if we can fix us, whatever that takes."

"Sara…" she wasn't sure, but she thought he might be crying or on the verge of it. "Sara, I love you."

She sighed again as she reached for a bottle of water. The time to start making smarter choices had arrived. "I know, Babe. I love you, too."

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the _**worst**_ way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to m_ingsmommy's_ _**13 Beers**_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on GeekFiction. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

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**CHAPTER 4 – And Then Some...Choices**

"_I love you, too…I love you, too…Babe, I love you, too…"_

Sara's words echoed in Grissom's mind as he stood helplessly in Logan airport, a single static figure in the midst of chaos.

Eventually habit took over: he closed his phone and replaced it in his pocket. Still, he stood blindly for a while longer trying to take in what had just happened.

_… you need to get your head on straight or distance yourself or whatever it is you're trying to do…_

He couldn't go home.

A harried mother with three small children shook him from his reverie when she plowed into his legs with a stroller. "Geez, mister…I'm so sorry," she managed before her attention flew back to her children. "Rusty…don't hit your sister…and where's your hat? Lisa, STOP THAT! Pull your dress down!..."

Grissom backed away from the small family drama. Mom didn't even notice…she was too busy being the adult eye in a swirling mass of toddlers.

Suddenly the bourbon he'd had the night before was in a hell of a rush to make an exit. Clenching his teeth against the inevitable, Grissom looked frantically for a bathroom. Finding none, he walked quickly to a trash bin and braced himself.

Once nature had taken its course he was flushed and sweaty. He bought a bottle of water from a passing vendor to clear his mouth. Shrugging out of his coat, he sat on an empty bench and mopped his head with his handkerchief. A quick glance at his watch made him remember that he had no flight to catch…

…and nowhere to go.

_Attention. Attention. May I have your attention, please. We are resuming normal operations at this time. I repeat. We are returning to normal operations. Please proceed to the customer service counter of your airline for reticketing. We appreciate your cooperation and apologize for the inconvenience. Thank you._

Normally a man of action, Grissom could think of nothing to do at the moment. Now that Logan had come off lockdown, the throngs of stranded travelers would start to thin. For the moment he was content to sit and let the world roll by while he considered an itinerary.

_"Las Vegas? Uh…no. California? I haven't been since Mom died…well, no, that isn't really an option…"_ he thought, suddenly missing his mom more than he had when she passed.

A succession of people sat next to him over the course of the next several hours: businessmen, couples, families, young people, old people. It seemed everyone had a place to go and was in a hurry to get there. Except him.

He'd burned a bridge at Williams. Dean Hartnet had made no secret of his displeasure at Grissom's decision to pull out of the seminar…the man would not welcome his return even if it meant the class could continue. His rooming arrangements would take awhile to fill: he could go back for the night and figure things out in the morning, but there was the small matter of having left the key in the apartment. He was too embarrassed to try to get back in. Besides, he'd called Dean Hartnet's assistant earlier…she was going to ship his things home in a day or two. It was better to move on.

He really just wanted to go home. Except Sara didn't want to see him.

"Yet…she doesn't want to see me _yet_," he said quietly.

A tentative voice issued from somewhere to his left. "Are you all right, young man?"

Grissom turned to see a small elderly woman watching him speculatively. She looked so like his mother that he nearly started signing to her. "Yes, ma'am. I'm all right."

Sitting back on the bench, she narrowed her eyes and sniffed. "You don't look all right and you should prevail upon the good offices of some soap and water, I think."

It had been a long time since he'd been scolded. He probably was a sight and now that he was looking down, he noticed his overcoat had picked up a few stains that clashed with his ensemble. Trying not to smile, Grissom combed his fingers through his hair and brushed uselessly at his coat, "You are quite right, ma'am. I'm afraid I won't be able to freshen up until I reach my destination, though."

A warm smile filled the woman's face. "I'm sorry…I was a bit rude, but a woman traveling alone can never be too careful and some of the people one meets are a little frightening. I think I have something…right here…now, where IS that..." Her words were lost as she pulled through an enormous tote bag. Finally she emerged with a packet of wipes. "Here…you keep these…I have more in my purse."

Before Grissom could thank her properly, she was approached by a younger man who was probably her son. "Mom! There you are! Irene and the kids are waiting in a taxi zone…let me help you carry your bag…" Moving slowly but with a certain grace, Wipes Lady got to her feet, turned and waggled her fingers in his direction before letting herself be enfolded by her son's protective arm.

"What should I do, Mom?" he said quietly to no one as he stared at the package of wipes without seeing it.

Hours later Grissom's ass was in shreds and he still had no idea where to go. Sara's words still stung his heart and pulled him back to Las Vegas…the one place he couldn't go.

"…_I keep asking myself…why now? You've been dealing with crime and death and all the horrible things human beings can do to each other for over twenty-five years, so, I have to ask myself, what's different now? And you know the only answer I can think of?" Her last word had been a small sob. "Me. The only thing that's different about your life is me."_

"Oh, Sara…you gave me a life and all I did was hurt you…" he whispered.

Scenes from the last few months marched through his brain. Tired…he'd been so _tired_. Each new case had been a lance in his side and it had taken every scrap of strength he had to keep going. That meant Sara was on the outside…again.

They'd done this dance for years. It was familiar to them both, this Come-Here-Go-Away two-step. Only now he was remembering her face the thousand times he'd turned his back on her. She'd take a short breath, raise her head as if to prepare for a blow…and despair would creep back into her eyes.

Grissom frowned with shame. "Again…I did it _again_. Why do I keep _doing_ that to her?"

He tried very hard to picture her in the early days after the first time they'd made love…the sparkle in here eyes and that adorable spring in her step that made her ass bounce just so. But he couldn't bring it up…all he could see was a huge pair of highly polished black shoes that had to be attached to the voice which said, "Sir…excuse me sir…are you catching a flight from this airport?"

"Yes…I…uh…missed my flight when the airport was in lockdown and I…uh…need to rebook…" he said as he gazed up acres of burly security guard who was observing him through flat cop's eyes.

"You've been sitting here for over eight hours, sir. Do you need assistance?"

Standing quickly, Grissom looked around for his laptop. He grabbed it and straightened, "I'll go book that flight now, officer."

"Could I see some identification, sir?"

Once the guard had satisfied himself that the Las Vegas criminalist was no threat, they parted, leaving Grissom in the same quandary he'd been in all day. Now what?

Absurdly, he thought of Mehran Karimi Nasseri, the Iranian refugee who'd spent almost 20 years stuck in Charles De Gaulle Airport with no place to go. Well, he might be a little desperate just now, but he had options. Time to exercise them.

xxx

Grissom slammed the door of his rental car and hurried across the windy parking lot into the Wal-Mart of some anonymous Boston suburb. Once inside he grabbed a cart and shopped with purpose. Shirts, jeans, socks, underwear, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo…everything he needed for several days on the road was heaped in the basket. Thank God for 24-hour discount stores.

As he put his items on the conveyer belt at check out, a magazine caught his eye. _Ladies Home Journal_. His mother had read that…probably the Wipes Lady did, too. The little connection to home made him smile and that felt good. He hadn't done much smiling today. That would have been it, but a blurb on the cover caught his eye: _Relationship Warning Signs: 4 Red Flags You Need to Know_. On impulse, he threw the magazine on the belt.

Much later, he was in an EconoLodge west of Boston. After a very welcome shower and a nap, he fired up the laptop and started the most important email he'd ever written.

_I have left Williams College and the seminar. I left the moment I knew I had to get home to you. I can't go back._

_You were right. I need to get better before I come home. I've rented a car and am driving cross country and hope to use the hours of solitude to think about where I've gone wrong and what I can do to be a better partner to you._

_I am ashamed that I've hurt you, but the pain is over, Sara…at least the old kind. I believe we can work this out together. Will you work on it with me?_

_I promise to…well, I don't know quite what to promise._

_I love you. I'm coming home._

He reread what he'd written, took a deep breath and hit _send_.

And then he slept better than he had in months.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the **worst** way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s _**13 Beers**_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5 – And Then Some...Questions**

_2700 miles at an average speed of 70 miles an hour driving an average of 8 hours a day was 4.82…5 days._

She stared at the screen of her laptop, stunned.

Home. He was coming home. Driving home. Her brain began the calculations immediately.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 60 miles an hour driving an average of 8 hours a day was 5.63…6 days._

He had left Willams. He couldn't go back.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 65 miles an hour driving an average of 8 hours a day was 5.19…5 days_

He couldn't go back? What the Hell?

An early roll out had brought her out of sleep and straight out the door with no time to check e-mail or messages. A double homicide that looked like it would go into double, maybe triple shifts had been solved and resolved within ten hours with the confession of the couple's nineteen year old daughter. The girl eventually admitted to killing them for the inheritance so she could run away with her 30 year old married boyfriend.

She was dark, defiant, and angry. Brass had dryly observed the girl had "a drug and man problem" as he watched her being led away by the female deputy.

But Sara saw the pain behind the cynicism and lightly touching his shoulder, asked, "Breakfast?"

The side of his mouth turned up gently "Yeah, sure. Gimme a couple minutes to wrap up the paperwork." Then he raised his voice slightly as a new deputy walked past Sara, clearly checking out her ass. "But you're not getting me drunk and taking advantage of me again. I'm on to your tricks."

She grinned at him even as she swatted his arm with considerable vigor. "Fine. Breakfast only. And I'll respect you in the morning." He snorted as she continued, "I need to check my e-mail anyway. I'll be at the lab, call me when you're ready."

She looked at her watch 5:23 am…8:23 am on the East Coast. She dialed his cell phone; it didn't even ring before the customer service message began playing. "The cellular customer you are attempting to reach is unavailable at this time. Please try your call again later." That meant he had let his battery die, which he was really bad about doing, or he was out of tower range.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 65 miles an hour driving an average of 6 hours a day was 6.92…7 days_

She took a steadying breath and dialed the number she had tried not to memorize. On the second ring the receiver rattled as someone, none too gently, picked up on the other end and a female voice said, "Hello?"

Sara was sure the number was right; she had a thing about numbers. But it was possible she had made a mistake. "I'm sorry, I must have the wrong…"

"Oh," the kindly voice broke in, "were you trying to reach Dr. Grissom, dear?"

So, no mistake. Sara would have immediately been concerned about a woman answering Grissom's phone were it not for the fact the voice sounded as if she had been around for the very first phone call. Reluctantly, Sara responded, "Uh, yes, ma'am. May I speak with him, please?"

"Oh, dear, no. He's left." The elderly woman's voice had just the faintest hint of excitement to it, as though she had some juicy gossip and couldn't wait to share it.

"Left?" Sara questioned.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 60 miles an hour driving an average of 5 hours a day was 9…9 days_

The woman made a sound that might have been an old fashioned "tsk." "Yes, he called the Dean yesterday and said he had a family emergency and had to pull out of the seminar. He sounded quite upset, too." Her voice was filled with genuine regret. "Though the Dean wasn't very sympathetic...that man lacks compassion in the worst way. They had words, I'm afraid."

Sara could feel her brow furrowing. "Oh…so, he didn't come back?" He wouldn't have left for Vegas straight from Logan would he? Where was he when he sent the e-mail?

_2700 miles at an average speed of 70 miles an hour driving an average of 7 hours a day was 5.51…6 days_

"Dr. Grissom? Oh, my, yes. He left yesterday." Sara heard rattling on the other end of the line. "Didn't even bother to pack…asked me if I could ship his things for him. Of course I told him I would…such a nice man and the Dean was such an…well, the Dean was quite rude to him."

"Oh…well…thank you. I appreciate your help. Thanks very much." She felt like she should ask something else, as though she had missed something major.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 55 miles an hour driving an average of 10 hours a day was 4.91…5 days_

"You're so welcome, dear."

She was still staring at her computer screen, phone in hand when Brass found her.

"Why would he do that?" Her voice was a lash of frustration as she pushed a pancake piece around her plate. "I don't understand. Why now? What is going on with him?"

_2700 miles at an average speed of 55 miles an hour driving an average of 7 hours a day was 7.01…7 days_

Brass twisted his lips and studied his whole wheat toast. He sighed loudly, causing Sara to look up and directly into his guilty face.

"Brass?" Her tone brooked no excuses or prevarications; only full disclosure would be acceptable.

He blanked his expression to careful neutrality; she had seen him do it hundreds of times in the years she had worked with him. It was a sure sign he didn't want the person looking at him to know he knew something they didn't know. She snorted and repeated, "Brass?" He widened his eyes slightly, moving from careful neutrality to an innocent expression that Sara Sidle knew was entirely feigned. "Jim Brass, did you call Grissom?"

"No," he answered, quite truthfully as he carefully spread Mixed Fruit jelly on his toast, studying the movements of the knife with intense concentration.

She narrowed her eyes; he wouldn't lie. She wasn't good with people but those she knew, she knew well and she probably knew Brass best of all. So, he wasn't lying, but he knew something.

The accuracy of a lie detector test depended on the abilities of the examiner. What was the right question? "Did you know he was coming home?"

_2700 miles at an average speed of 70 miles an hour driving an average of 10 hours a day was 3.85…4 days_

"No," he took a bite of the carefully jellied toast; the blank look was back.

He didn't know Grissom was coming home, but he knew something. Yet, he said he hadn't called the other man. How else would…it clicked, not necessarily the how but the right question. "Have you spoken with Grissom?"

Innocence, blankness and guilt melted away from his face and he nodded, looking almost relieved.

"How?" She was not angry; she had supposed she would be angry, but she wasn't. She just needed to figure out the puzzle. She had the odd thought that she should create a complex three dimensional puzzle and name it The Grissom.

He swallowed his toast. "I answered your phone. The other day. At the house."

"Oh." She thought for a minute. "Ok" If their positions were reversed, she might have done the same. Then she had an alternate reality thought of Grissom and Brass dating and Grissom breaking Brass's heart. She shook her head. If their positions were reversed, Brass would have shot Grissom by now. "Did you tell him to come home?"

_2700 miles at an average speed of 75 miles an hour driving an average of 12 hours a day was 3…3 days_

"No."

She sighed. They were back to monosyllables and intense toast scrutiny. "Brass, I'm not mad…please, don't make me drag it out of you. He appears to have just jumped ship from Williams and the Dean is pissed…if he ever hopes to have a career in academia he's going to have to live this down." She took a deep breath and looked pleadingly at her friend. "He might take as long as two weeks to get home or he could be home in three days and I thought I had three weeks to think things through and prepare. I _**need**_ to know what you said to him, I need to know what's going through his head." She took a breath, "Brass, please."

He dropped his toast on the plate and looked up at her. "I told him he was a horse's ass." He contemplated a minute. "A giant horse's ass, I think."

A corner of her mouth lifted, slowly and soon, she discovered she was grinning at the man in front of her. "You did?"

He quirked a smile back at her, "Yeah, I did." He thought for another minute. "I told him to shut up; coupla times, I think. I told him just because he was bad at living he shouldn't punish you." He took a deep breath and it seemed to her as if he was bracing himself, "And I might have inferred that he was emotionally abusive."

"Emo…? Whoa." She blinked at him several times, rapidly.

He met her gaze with unwavering frankness. "Yeah."

She chewed on her lip for a few silent minutes as he slowly rotated his coffee mug by the handle, sailing an invisible meridian as he waited for her to speak. Finally, she cleared her throat and hesitantly began "After the…when I was in counseling, we did a lot of talking about my parents. And how their relationship…impacts my relationships." She looked down, studying her now cold pancakes, not daring to meet his eyes. "About how, in the past, there might have been an emotional payoff for me to stay in certain relationships…like I'm trying to get something right, trying to solve something or fix it. She said," she swallowed, "she said emotional tens don't marry emotional twos."

"There's an equals sign," Brass interjected softly.

She raised her eyes to meet his, "Exactly. How did…?"

He shrugged. "Before the ex and I called it a day, we did some counseling. We were too far gone to fix, but part of it stayed with me. We were both working so damned hard blaming each other, neither of us could see our part in it."

He smiled, remembering. "This guy was great. He was a no nonsense, street smart Jesuit with a doctorate in psychology. And he called bullshit on both of us. Told us there was an equals sign in every couple. Even when it looks like one person is clearly right and the other is clearly wrong…there is some hidden something that puts an equals sign between them."

He turned his hands palms up in a gesture of acceptance, before reaching over to steal a strawberry from her plate. "I just always remembered it."

She pushed her plate toward him, offering him the rest of the fruit and placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "So, I can't totally make Gris the bad guy here. I gotta figure out what my payoff is. If he's going to try, then I've got to try too."

_2700 miles at an average speed of 50 miles an hour driving an average of 6 hours a day was 9…9 days_

The detective smiled gently at her. "If you want it to work…yeah, that seems like the best thing to do."

She returned his smile and relaxed back into the seat. "What else did you tell him?"

He chewed thoughtfully on a wedge of melon. "Told him I cared about you and he wasn't going to hurt you again and if he did, I was gonna hurt him right back."

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened in a startled "O" and then morphed into a grin. "Did you?" She laughed a little. "Did you really?"

He slyly, shyly smiled back. "Yup."

"You…" she half stood, leaned across the table and smacked a kiss against his cheek, "are **the** best."

He was blushing as he gruffly replied, "Thanks."

The first thing she did when she got home was send an e-mail to her former PEAP counselor asking for a private referral for a local therapist who specialized in couples counseling.

_2700 miles at an average speed of 70 miles an hour driving an average of 6 hours a day was 6.43…7 days_

The second thing she did was send an e-mail to Grissom.

_I was surprised to get your e-mail, but if you're sure you're ready to come home and this is the way you need to do it, the best way to get yourself together, then I'm glad you're doing it._

_Just please, please, please be careful. And stay in touch with me so I don't worry about you. Please do that for me, please._

_I believe we can work this out and I am willing to do whatever it takes as long as you are._

_As for leaving Williams? What the hell were you thinking? Do you realize you could have ruined your academic career? What happens if you decide you don't want to be a CSI any more? Haven't you always wanted to go back into academia eventually?_

_That was a terrible risk to take even though I am happy you care enough about me, about us, to come back. And I love you._

_I'm just not sure if I'm going to kick you or kiss you when I see you again._

_Take care of yourself and let me know how and where you are._

_Love,_

_Sara_

After sending the e-mail, she got up and took a shower and decided she was ready for sleep. Checking her e-mail one last time to see if her PEAP counselor had sent any therapists' names before heading to bed she found, instead, one from Grissom.

_When you see me again, please kiss me. _

_I really need you to kiss me._

_Love,_

_Gil_

**TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the worst way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s _13 Beers_. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on GeekFiction. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 – And Then Some...Driving**

_My love must be a kind of blind love...I can't see anyone but you.  
__Art Garfunkel I Only Have Eyes for You_

Darlene Hobbs stood for a moment wondering what to do. "Your Grand Slam, sir?"

The man in the booth was nearly buried by electronics and paper: besides a laptop and phone, there were also several partially folded road maps, a newspaper, and what might be notes…at least, there was a lot of dog-eared paper with writing and diagrams margin to margin.

And no place to put a plate.

Grissom looked up, embarrassed. He swept most of the paper into a messy pile and put it on the seat next to him. "Sorry…Darlene," he said, catching sight of her name badge. "You can set that down right here…"

Once the meal was safely on the table, Darlene looked around for the cup of coffee she knew she'd brought him earlier. "Would you like a refill…on your…"

Seeing the confusion on her face and the pot in her hand, he looked back at the table and moved some more paper around. "_There_ it is…yes, more coffee, please."

"Can I get you anything else, sir?"

Gil felt around the maps still covering the tabletop without success. "I know you gave me silverware when I sat down …would you bring me some more?"

The waitress pulled a napkin-wrapped bundle from her apron pocket and placed it beside his plate. "Anything else?" she asked with a smile and a laugh in her voice.

"No, I think I'm good…thank you, Darlene...sorry about the mess."

"No problem…enjoy your meal," she said as she put the bill face-down on the table. "Let me know if you need anything else."

Grissom fumbled with a package of syrup for his pancakes before he got it open and doused them thoroughly. The sunnyside eggs, sausage and bacon smelled so good… It had been awhile since he'd had what Sara called 'a heart attack on a plate.' Assembling a scrumptious bite of sausage, egg and pancake, he lifted the fork to his mouth…

Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry.

Sara used to chide him gently about his food choices; ever since they'd learned his cholesterol was a bit high. He'd roll his eyes in mock defeat and change his order to something else, secretly pleased she was paying attention to his health. It was one of the warm little things he treasured about their life together…that reminded him they were a couple.

But she wasn't here…

Annoyed with himself and the situation he now found himself in, he fished a twenty out of his wallet and tossed it next to the plate. While he was gathering up his things, Darlene made a worried appearance.

"Is there something wrong with your breakfast, sir?"

"Oh, no…I'm sure it's fine…I just remembered I'm not supposed to eat that stuff…it's not good for me."

Still frowning, she asked, "Can I get you anything else?"

Distracted, Grissom continued to gather maps and papers. Once it was all tucked under his arm, he turned to the puzzled waitress. "No, that's OK…there's a twenty…that should take care of the meal…and you keep the change."

Darlene picked up the bill and called to his retreating back, "Have a nice day?"

xxx

A few blocks down, Gil saw a Natural Foods store. He didn't want to stop again, but his rumbling stomach argued persuasively and finally won the debate. Grapes, yogurt and fresh bread in hand, Grissom made himself a picnic on the front seat of the rental car. Of course, he had to rearrange a drift of papers to find the seat.

"_What is wrong with me? I'm not usually this disorganized,"_ he thought as he tried to sort maps, journals, and notes into sensible piles. Finally he grabbed the whole lot, slammed out of the car and put the mess in the trunk.

"That's better," he smiled, getting back into the front seat to enjoy his breakfast.

The baguette was crusty and still warm, just the way Sara liked it. Sara. If she were here, they'd have some soft cheese with the bread (she'd have remembered…he always forgot), and perhaps a little wine…

Thoughts of Sara drifted to the last email she'd sent:

_Grissom,_

_A kiss it is._

_Drive safe and check in._

_Love,_

_Sara_

Putting the bread down on the seat next to him, he pulled the paper copy of her email out of his breast pocket and read it again. _A kiss it is…Love…Sara_. The paper was soft beneath his fingers because he'd read it so many times, continually checking that it was as he remembered: that she was willing to try and that she still loved him. Reassured, he folded it up, put it back in his pocket and took a big bite of bread.

Once breakfast was consumed, Grissom tried to clean up, brushing crumbs from his lap and dabbing at a yogurt stain on his shirt. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview. _"I am the very image of the nutty professor,"_ he groaned. His usually immaculate beard was bushy and he could use a hair cut. And a comb.

Running his fingers quickly through his hair tamed things for the moment, but attention to grooming was going to have to rise a few notches on his list of Things To Do.

OK. He'd been distracted. More than distracted…he'd been frantic to get back home to Sara to somehow make amends. Nothing else had mattered or even entered his consciousness for several days. Well, the emergency was over…more or less. He hadn't ruined everything. There was hope and what more could one ask for than hope?

"Forever…I want forever."

Eyes that had seen too many broken bodies peered out at him from the rearview. "And faith. I think I need some of that, too."

Surprised at his spiritual musings, he exited the car for one last crumb sweep before going back around to the trunk. It took a moment to find the map of Illinois.

He'd passed though Chicago early that morning and was somewhere east of Joliet at the moment. If he made good time and didn't get too bogged down by the rough winter roads, he could reach Omaha before he was ready to quit for the day. Route firmly in mind, he drove out of the Natural Foods parking lot toward the junction with I-80 West.

Once out of the highway, his hand wandered to his pocket, lightly rubbing the paper through the fabric of his shirt. "I really need that kiss, Sara."

xxx

Having left Williams with nothing but the clothes on his back and a laptop required a series of stops to pick up things he needed. First it was clothes, shoes, underwear and personal hygiene essentials in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, then it was a cell phone charger and a little thermal printer for his laptop in Albany.

Interstate 80 was clear and the miles rolled up behind him hour after hour. His desire to get back to Las Vegas, to Sara, and to that kiss kept him occupied. But when he stopped to rest and at night…always at night…he needed a distraction that was not the memory of Sara's sad face or Brass's harsh words.

He'd found a few journals at used book shops in Syracuse, Buffalo and Cleveland. He thought he could lose himself in the familiar material, but every paragraph held hidden land mines: memories of Sara and the Lab and what he'd left behind. Then he'd thought to write up his experience at Williams. That worked for awhile until his notes about the life cycle of swamp mosquitoes digressed into a description of Sara standing naked in front of his bedroom window…

_Telling Sara he was going on sabbatical just after they'd made love was probably the worst mistake he'd ever made. Well, leaving Sara had been the worst mistake he'd ever made. She'd stood there silhouetted against the sheer curtain for the longest time, arms wrapped around herself. He could feel the disillusionment and pain rolling off her in waves, yet he'd been so numb himself, he hadn't been able to think of a single comforting thing to say._

_Not "It's something I have to do for myself."_

_Not "It's not you, Sara, and it's not us."_

_Not "I love you. I'm sorry."_

_He didn't think any of these things until much later…on the plane…when she was far behind and he was flying 700 miles per hour in a direction he no longer wanted to go…_

The stop in Toledo for a white noise machine took longer than expected: he'd had to go to several different stores until he found the right model. Used to the quiet of home, the motels he'd been staying in were a little noisy and he'd been having trouble sleeping. A couple having athletic sex in the next room one night…for four hours…had put him on the road in a foul mood having nothing to do with lack of sleep.

He'd stopped in South Bend, Indiana at Tower Records for CDs. Broadcast radio was getting on his nerves and even though satellite radio was promising, he wanted to create a mood he could control.

He realized that his need to control his environment, always, and the out of control feelings his love for Sara stirred in his gut were part of the turmoil that sent him on sabbatical. He had to learn to let go so he could stop hurting her. Somehow.

But right now, music was the answer. It was soothing and it always took him just where he wanted to go. At the moment, all he wanted was to find a way to make the drive manageable.

Giving Sara some time was one thing he could do for her right now. That and the thinking he'd promised to do. Which was turning out to be harder than he thought.

Grissom had always liked Simon and Garfunkel. The kid at Tower said _Breakaway_ was pretty good. _My Little Town_ was on it, which reminded him, oddly, of growing up in the 50s, so he'd bought it along with recordings of Handel's _Water Music_, Vivaldi's _Four Seasons_ and a compilation of opera performances.

He was somewhere east of Newton, Iowa when he finally popped _Breakaway_ in the dashboard player. Though it was programmed to play random tracks, _My Little Town_ came up first.

_In my little town  
__I grew up believing  
__God keeps his eye on us all…_

"Yeah, that's what I used to think… _and he used to lean upon me as I pledged allegiance to the wall…"_

Snow covered plains unrolled before him as he hummed along with the tune. Grissom glanced at his watch: 2:30…he was making good time. He might just make it to Omaha before dark.

The next track clicked on.

_Shattered dreams, worthless years, here am I encased inside a hollow shell.  
__Life began, then was done, now I stare into a cold and empty well._

"Well, _that's_ a little close to home…" His finger searched for the _skip_ button.

_Disney Girls_ was up next…a pleasant tune he actually remembered had been covered by Captain and Tenille. _"Ah…the seventies.."_ he grinned.

Memories of college and grad school drifted through his thoughts…his first lecture…his first seminar. And years later, that seminar in San Francisco with the over-eager girl in the front row. Sara.

He frowned. Like roads to Rome, all thoughts led to Sara, it seemed.

_All my life I spent the nights with dreams of you.  
__The warmth I missed for the things I wished are comin' true.  
__I got my love to give and a place to live, guess I'm gonna stay.  
__It'd be a peaceful life with a forever wife and a kid some day._

"Dammit!"

Another track change.

It was _Rag Doll_, a light, sweet love song that reminded him of a music box. But it was about love lost…Sara's last sad look when he'd had to go to catch his taxi…he could have missed his flight…taken some time to comfort her…to explain…

_Oh, how I long to have her back here by my side.  
__The happiness of yesterday, it damn near cost my pride.  
__There ain't nothin' worse than losin' when you've everything to gain.  
__I've just got to get that woman back or nothing will be the same._

"Jesus…what IS this?" He pressed _skip_ again.

The next tune was one that sounded familiar. _99 Miles from L.A._

_Counting the telephone poles, I phone you.  
__Reading the signs on the road, I write you.  
__99 Miles from L.A., we're laughing, we're loving, please be there…_

Grissom replayed the last conversation he'd had with Sara in his mind.

_Sara was tentative. "So how is it going, the thinking?"_

"_Good…it's good," he'd lied._

"_OK."_

_There was a long pause. Neither spoke until he'd managed, "I don't know why I keep people at arm's length, Sara. I've always been that way."_

"_Grissom…you can't keep me at arm's length anymore." He'd never heard such sadness in her voice._

"_I'm working on it, Sara," he'd told her._

"_I need you to work harder…I love you, but I can't take much more of this."_

When the disc player clicked over to the next tune, Grissom was lost in thought, wondering how he could salvage the mess he'd made.

_It's the same old me crying the same old tears  
__And I walk away like I always do  
__Still in love with you._

"All right, that's it…goodbye, Art." Grissom angrily pressed _eject_, grabbed the disk and once he'd powered down the window, flung the disk as hard as he could into the snow covered Iowa countryside.

It felt so good, he had to laugh. It was the best he'd felt since he'd gotten the 'a kiss it is' email.

Flashing lights and a siren appeared in his rearview mirror. State police.

"Damn."

Once safely on the side of the road, Grissom rolled down his window and watched the trooper approach in the side mirror.

"May I see your license and registration, please?"

He included his Las Vegas CSI ID along with his license and the rental car papers. "What's the problem, officer?"

It took a few moments for the trooper to examine the documents. "I observed you throwing something from your vehicle a mile or two back. I'm going to have to cite you for littering…Mr. Grissom."

Thinking it would be wise to suppress a laugh, he waited quietly while the officer wrote up the summons.

The trooper handed the ticket through the window. "The fine for littering is $150, Mr. Grissom. Instructions for settling the ticket by mail are on the back. Have a safe trip through Iowa."

Grissom suppressed a smile. "I will, officer. Thank you."

Once the statie had pulled away, Grissom rolled up the window, pulled out his cell and punched a number.

"It's me…did I wake you? Good. I just called to say…well, I just called to say…"

He paused so long, Sara must have wondered if they'd lost the connection. "Grissom…are you there?"

"_God, it was good to hear her voice,"_ he thought. "Yes, I'm here. I just called to tell you…whatever it takes…I'll do whatever it takes."

He could almost hear the smile in her voice. It made him smile, too, when she said, "Come home."

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the **worst** way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s **_13 Beers_**. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – And Then Some...Physics**

_Newton's first law: the law of inertia__ –_

_An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force.  
An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an external and unbalanced force._

It wasn't a knife, it was a gun.

And the wife had chosen not to stick around for the psych eval and the possible imprisonment; instead, she had called 911 then put the long barrel of the .44 Magnum in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

And the child was nine, not twelve.

The house was in a moderate middle class white collar subdivision, not a working class neighborhood that had seen better days.

But the overturned furniture in the otherwise tidy house and broken glass stained with blood was eerily similar; similar enough, in fact, to cause a slideshow of memory to click through Sara's brain as she photographed the scene.

Perhaps the mother had assumed the suicide shot would not draw the child out of bed and down the stairs since the fight and the first shot had not. Her assumption had proven incorrect; when Sara had arrived minutes behind Brass and the black and white, the little girl had still been kneeling in the pool of her mother's blood and brains, smoothing her hands over the woman's face.

Her name was Madison, "Maddy," she had supplied through stiff lips. Her pallor in contrast to the drying blood on her cheeks was alarming. But the EMTs had found no wounds or injuries. "Shock," one had murmured to Sara and she had nodded.

Despite the girl's insistence that she be allowed to stay with her mother, Brass had lifted her in his arms and taken her out to the waiting ambulance with a firm gentleness that nearly brought tears to Sara's eyes. Nearly. She would not compromise the case with her emotions; she tucked them away in a distant place where they would wait until she could deal with them. Right here, right now, the case was what mattered the most.

The wife's call to 911 had stated simply that she had killed her husband after a marriage filled with abuse and she was going to kill herself. She had left her sister's name and phone number in a note on the kitchen table along with the paperwork on two life insurance policies. She'd told the operator she wanted a better life for her daughter than she herself had had.

Sara had already photographed the body of the husband. Were it not for the singed hole in the middle of his forehead, his body would have looked as though he had simply fallen asleep on the couch. The blood spatter spoke of darker things, though and when David arrived to move the body, she knew the back of his head would show an empty, gaping hole. The wife had told the 911 operator he had come home drunk from a bad run at the tables, beaten her, torn up their home and then passed out. She had finally had enough, she said, and she had killed him.

The wife's body was harder to photograph.

She was on her back, in the middle of the room, left arm at her side, right arm crossed over her torso, the gun between her left arm and her left side where it had dropped from her right hand. The position was consistent with someone who had eaten a gun from a standing position. Her arms were a mass of bruises, old and new, and Sara thought it looked as though her left arm might have been broken. But it was difficult to tell what damage to her face predated the suicide. The black eyes and soft forehead were consistent with this type of self-inflicted gunshot wound, but it was difficult to say if the split lip and other facial contusions were results of the gun's kick or her husband's fists.

It didn't really matter. All the other evidence was supporting the story of abuse she had told the 911 operator and the note she had left.

Her body, the evidence, all of it spoke of a despair that Sara was all too familiar with. She found herself for the first time in a long time having to work at concentrating. Using breathing techniques to calm herself, a litany of "It's all right, it's not you, that part of your life is over" running in an endless loop through her head.

Pausing, she took a deep, calming breath but the metallic smell of blood hung in the air and overpowered her. Not that it was a smell she could ever get used to, but she had found over the years she was able to disregard it after a few minutes at a bloody scene. Not today, though; not this scene.

She decided on a break for some fresh air; David would arrive with the Coroner's van soon and, hopefully, this would be easier scene after the bodies were removed.

Stepping onto the front porch, she took a huge gulp of the night air. She noted Doris Petersen from Child Protective Services talking to the child as she sat on the ambulance's gurney. Sara sighed with relief. There wasn't a better, more compassionate case worker that she knew of. Doris would see Maddy was cleaned up and comfortable until her aunt could get here from Reno and go through the steps of taking custody of the girl. She might have to stay in custody for a few days, but if everything checked out, she wouldn't be put into the system.

A soft glow was beginning to emanate from the Eastern sky; Sara glanced at her watch and sighed again.

Almost. She had almost made it. Up until now it had been an easy night; a trick roll, a jewelry store robbery, and a hit and run by a car with a unique paint color. It was a near perfect night. Not so slow that boredom had set in, but no deaths, no violence on human beings…theft and property damage only. Perfect.

She had just finished up the paint analysis with only an hour left in the shift and was beginning to look forward to the rest of the day. Her now regular breakfast with Brass, home in time to take Grissom's morning call in private and then her appointment with her new therapist. Or was he their new therapist? Both, she supposed.

She had found Dr. Joseph Argyle through a list her PEAP counselor had provided. She had chosen him because he was the only man on the list and she figured if Grissom was serious about going to couple's counseling, he would probably feel more comfortable with a man. She'd been lucky enough that the good doctor had been available to see her almost immediately.

It had been a serendipitous find. Not only was he a highly respected couple's therapist, he did pro bono work with victims of domestic violence. They had clicked immediately and given her history, he seemed to understand her need to make some progress before Grissom returned. He agreed to see her daily and they had begun to explore how her issues contributed to the dysfunction in her relationship with Grissom.

She walked away from the house as she dialed Joe's office and left a message on his voice mail. Even with a written and taped confession, with the amount of evidence here there was no way she was making today's session. The irony of not being able to make a therapy appointment after a scene like this was not lost on her.

But murder was still murder even if it was justifiable and the murderer was dead. The evidence needed to be recovered and logged in case something came up later. She couldn't make up for the loss the child had suffered but she could and she would make sure this part was done right; that there were as few questions as possible.

Let the evidence speak, even if the story it told was too sad to bear.

xxx

Brass had arrived home in the afternoon, dog tired and ready for a few hours sleep before he had to get up and do it all over again. His coat had been the first to go, the tie was tied for second with his shoes as he was able to kick them off while unknotting the glorified noose.

He was contemplating if five hours of sleep was enough time to sleep off a beer when "My Humps" began playing from his cell phone. Tonight, he swore, tonight, he was going to get a hold of Sanders and put his service revolver to the young CSI's temple, have him change it back to a normal ring and tell him the next time he touched Brass's phone, he would be collecting evidence from his own murder.

"Brass," he barked without looking at the caller id.

"Have you seen Sara?"

"Well, hello, to you, too, Gilbert…how goes the wagon train West? Are they going to be renaming any highways the Grissom Trail?"

He heard a frustrated sound come over the line; the detective suddenly realized something must be off if Grissom was phoning him; that was a fairly big deal.

The CSI repeated, "Have you see Sara? Is she all right?"

Brass couldn't miss the urgency of Grissom's tone and he thought back on the day and night. "We were in doubles. I saw her back at the Lab about," he looked at his watch "four hours ago. She was logging evidence on a case we were working. Why?"

"She didn't take my call this morning…I usually have an e-mail from her when I wake up and there wasn't one this morning. I've tried calling her all day, but it goes straight to voice mail." There was no mistaking the worry in his voice.

Slumping down into a chair, Brass sighed. "Did you do something stupid? Did you two have another fight? You know, if you two ever get your act together, you are going to owe me, big time. I'm thinking all your kids should be named after me."

"No, things have been really good. We've been talking; it's been good." His voice was filled with conviction.

Brass knew what Grissom was saying was true; Sara had told him of the progress they were making. He called her in the morning when he woke; she called him at night when she woke. They e-mailed each other multiple times during the day. The therapist she was seeing had given them some "homework" and she had laughed when she told him how eager Grissom had been to do the work, to prove to her he meant it when he said "whatever it takes." She had been encouraged by Grissom's willingness and her own growth.

Grissom continued, with a trace of anxiousness, "I swear. I haven't done anything."

The wheels in the detective's brain began turning, even as he jibed, "This time."

Grissom sighed as he conceded, "This time."

Brass continued to think, even as he continued to poke, "You think."

"Brass…" Grissom's voice resembled a frustrated growl.

"Sorry," the detective returned, sheepishly.

"I've left messages on her cell, at her apartment; I even tried the townhouse." His apprehension came over the line with every syllable. "Was she all right last night? This morning?"

"Yeah, like I said, it was a double…we pulled a case about an hour before shift's end, a murder/suicide, a domes—Shit!" He hit the coffee table in front of him with a closed fist.

Brass wanted to kick himself. He'd been so concerned about getting the little girl out of the house, dealing with CPS, the neighbors and the girl's aunt and uncle when they finally arrived. It hadn't even occurred to him how the case might affect Sara; he had been so deep in the dirty details of his job he had forgotten about his friend's past.

"What?" The usually dispassionate scientist was starting to sound frantic.

"Look, forget what I said about owing me one. Turns out I'm not so great at this friend stuff," he stated miserably, searching the room for where his shoes might have landed.

"Brass? What does that mean? Should I catch a flight from Denver?" Brass could hear distress and concern warring with the man's need to take action.

He had found the left shoe but not the right; he didn't have time to look anymore. "No, don't do that." He headed towards his bedroom to retrieve another pair of shoes from his closet. "Keep doing what you're doing."

"What happened?" Grissom blew out a troubled breath. "Is there something I should know?"

"It was a rough case. I didn't think about it bothering her." He stepped one foot, then the other into a pair of comfortable loafers. "Give me an hour. If I don't find her, then you can hop that plane." He snapped his phone shut and headed back through the house, stopping only long enough to snag his keys from their hook by the front door.

xxx

He tried the obvious places first. Her apartment, Grissom's townhouse, the Lab, even the diner. Her car was nowhere to be seen.

There was one place left to check before he told Grissom to get to the airport in Denver and get his ass back to Vegas.

He sighed with relief when he saw her Prius sitting in the driveway. He sent a quick text to Grissom..."Found her. Will call soon." It was painfully slow to type the text message…he didn't do a lot of texting. But he didn't want Grissom peppering him with questions until he had had a chance to see if she was OK. The entomologist had already called him four times to check on his progress.

She was in the girl's room, sitting against the pink wall right beside the window on the opposite side of the room from the door. He studied her from the doorway; though she did not acknowledge his presence, he knew she knew he was there. After standing in the door for several moments, he silently crossed the room, stepped over her outstretched legs and slid down the wall to sit beside her.

They sat in silence for a while, until he remarked, "I want to know what you have against sitting in actual chairs. I'm a little old to be spending half my time hauling my tired old ass up off the floor."

Instead of answering, she leaned her head over and rested it on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and pulled her a little closer.

"You're a good friend, Brass." Her voice was soft and tired; he noticed her hair held the faint scent of flowers mixed with the coppery smell of blood: a product of spending so much time at the scene.

He shook his head, sadly. "I don't think so. If I were a real good friend, I would've figured out this case was going to take a toll on you. I would've checked on you before now." He softened his voice. "Grissom is worried sick. You need to call him."

"He called you?"

He snorted. "Yeah, a while ago… and then ten minutes later and ten minutes after that and ten minutes after that…I think you should call him before he calls me in another," he pretended to check his watch, "Forty-three seconds."

"I will. Soon." Her gaze never wavered from the unicorn dancing on the comforter in front of her.

"You wanna talk about this?" He couldn't believe how hesitant his own voice was. He wasn't sure what the right thing to do was.

She shrugged. "Not really. But I probably should." They were silent for a few more minutes before she spoke again. "Did you know I've done all of my course work for my doctorate? I only have to finish and defend my thesis. Of course, it's been so long now, I'd have to re-apply and get a new advisor, but still…my dissertation is all that stands between me and being Dr. Sidle."

"Really?" He didn't know what had caused her to bring the subject up, but anything that kept her talking instead of the still, silent Sara he'd discovered sitting here was all right with him.

"Yeah. When I was talking to Joe yesterday I realized how much psychology and physics have in common." She began idly swiping the toe of her boot against the pink ruffle of the bed skirt.

There sure was a lot of pink in this room; he remembered Ellie's pink phase. It didn't seem to last very long in his mind. It also seemed she went straight from pink and lavender to gothic black and blood red. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Inertia exists as long as things stay the same, either moving or fixed. A force is required to change it. Same thing with people…we stay or move in patterns. In order for anything to change, you have to stop the pattern…physics." She shrugged again.

"Ah," he nodded. It made sense.

"She changed the pattern the only way she knew how." He felt her nod against his shoulder. "She applied force to the inertia."

"The wife?"

She shook her head. "My Mom."

He felt his chest clench at the sadness in her tone. "Sara…"

"No, it's OK." She sighed, softly. "I finally understand and…it's OK." She paused briefly before continuing, "She wanted a better life for me, just like Maddy's Mom wanted for her. I get that now."

She sat up suddenly and looked at him with an earnest expression. "She broke the pattern; she stopped the inertia. It wasn't the best way...but maybe it was the only way she knew how." She chewed on her lip. "Nobody in my family ever did more than a few units of community college…and I have a BS from Harvard and an MS from Berkley…I could have my doctorate in less than a year."

He smiled at the beginnings of her enthusiasm. "Yeah, you're pretty impressive."

She swatted him lightly, before continuing. "I know, my relationship with Gil hasn't been ideal…but I love him and he loves me. And we're trying, Brass…both of us…we love each other enough to the break the pattern." Suddenly, she was beaming at him. "We've stopped the inertia." She blinked at him. "Do you see? Don't you think we can do it?"

He grinned at her, "Sweetheart, I think if the two of you put your mind to it, you could defy gravity."

She quirked a smile at him and then laughed outright as "My Humps" filled the air. "Wouldn't have figured you for a Black Eyed Peas fan."

"Sanders," he groused as he reached for the phone.

She continued laughing, "Are you going to kill him?"

"Oh, he's already dead," Brass handed her the phone. "It's your boyfriend. I'll wait downstairs." He pulled himself off the floor with a grunt.

She flipped the phone open as Brass left the room, "Hey, Babe."

A rushed, relieved breath came through the phone. "Sara." A sigh. "Thank god. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine…I'm sorry I worried you; it was…a rough case," she apologized with soft regret. "I am so sorry…"

"Honey, its OK…as long as you're all right, everything is OK." There was a slight pause, then, "I finally got Brass to tell me about it." His voice touched all the tender places on her soul. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I wish…I wish I had been there."

"Gris, it's OK." She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I'm OK." She leaned her head back against the wall. "It was bad…but I think…I think I understand some things now that are going to help me get better…that are going to help us."

"Sara," his sigh was a caressed her across the miles. "In case I've never made it clear…I think you are an amazing woman…everything you've been through, I can't believe how strong and generous and beautiful, inside and out, you are."

She felt tears sliding down her face at his tender words. "Thank you."

"I should have told you long ago. I should have told you a lot of things a long time ago." She heard him take a deep breath, "But I am going to spend the rest of my life telling you how amazing you are, showing you how much I love you and doing my best to make you happy."

The tears kept falling, even as she smiled at his words. "You really want to make me happy?"

"Oh, Sara, you have no idea how much I want that."

"I want that too. I'm ready for us to be happy together." She closed her eyes. "Come home to me." She sighed. "I want to kiss you, I want to look in your eyes and hear you say you love me. I want to know we can be happy and healthy together...I want a life with you."

"Sara, I want the same things, I swear." His voice was sweetly sincere.

"So?" She deliberately lightened her tone and was gratified to hear his slight laugh before he spoke again.

"I love you. And I'm on my way."

**TBC...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the **worst** way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s **_13 Beers_**. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – And Then Some...Snow **

Denver, Colorado 

Grissom climbed down from the bright yellow Snow Cat and was sodden with snow in moments; the wind was blowing so hard it nearly sucked the breath out of his lungs. He was busy staying upright when someone pulled on his shoulder and shouted in his ear, "That's the Armory straight ahead. See the lights? Go inside and they'll give you something to eat and a place to sleep. OK?"

All he could manage was an exaggerated nod. Clutching his meager luggage, he struggled through knee high snow in the direction he thought the building probably was. Good thing he was right.

"This way, sir…here, let me help you," said a helpful voice as he trudged through the door. One set of hands took his duffel and laptop bag and another placed a blanket around his shoulders. When he looked around, he was met by several concerned faces. "Come this way…we'll get you dried off and warm in no time. Are you hungry?" asked a tall, thin corporal with kind eyes and a spattering of acne across his forehead.

Grissom stood still for a moment to get his bearings. The people around him were all in fatigues… _"National Guard,"_ he thought. He reached up to shake the snow out of his hair and returned the smiles of his rescuers. "Thank you…thank you all."

Several dozen other stranded motorists were also calling the Denver National Guard Armory home that night. Emergency workers had been plucking people out of cars for hours since the State Police shut down interstates around Denver. Grissom had made it as far as Keenesburg before he'd gotten stuck.

Once he was settled on a cot, he rooted through his bag for some dry clothes. Thank God he'd bought more than one pair of sneakers on his midnight ride through Wal-Mart…when?...five…no, six days ago.

A helpful E-1 directed him to the men's locker room. Twenty minutes and a hot shower later he was finally warm and dry.

"And safe. Jesus…what a dumb ass!" he grimaced. _Sara had been firm. "Don't drive into the storm, Grissom. They say it's going to be bad heading into Colorado." _

In one of his rare 'man' moments, he'd tried to reassure her. "I traded the rental car in on a four wheel drive in Omaha for this very reason. I'll be fine."

And she'd called him on it immediately. "Gil, just because you can go out in a blizzard doesn't mean you should. Stay safe and call me." 

Grissom rubbed the back of his neck. "Stay safe…"

Irritated with himself, he stood and went in search of something to eat. A makeshift food line had been set up in a smaller room adjacent to the dormitory where the evacuees were housed. Grissom got in line behind an older couple who were continuing an argument no doubt started when they were stranded on the road.

"Really, Harvey…the kids are going to be frantic. And we didn't leave enough food for Ming and Moxie." Gray haired and sturdy, clad in a midnight blue velveteen sweat suit, the wife was sniffing the sandwiches on her tray and frowning. "Have you found a phone yet? I can't believe you forgot to charge the cell phone."

Harvey, balding and round in a matching sweat suit, was bearing up under his wife's complaints by listening with half an ear. He mumbled to himself, "I should eat so good as those cats…" He put a piece of pie on his tray and the wife immediately took it off. Surprisingly, he smiled and picked up an apple. "I saw a bank of pay phones…we can call the kids and then your sister so she can go over and feed Moxie and Ming…"

Something about the dessert exchange touched Grissom as he selected soup and a sandwich for himself. He lost the rest of the couple's conversation trying to identify what he was feeling. That was part of his homework, after all… "I am feeling…I am _feeling_…fuck."

Mrs. Harvey gave him a dark look as he wandered past with his tray. 

xxx

All dawn did was soften the grey outside the Armory. A record setting blizzard had pretty much shut down Denver and everything else within a hundred mile radius. When Grissom woke, he joined a group of anxious travelers trying to figure out how they were going to get from Point A to point B.

_"What am I going to do? I take insulin and didn't bring enough with me." _

"My car…it's not paid for and it's stuck on the Peak to Peak…how do I get it back?''

"I'm out of cigarettes. Is there a 7-11 around here? Do you have change?" 

A very patient sergeant held up his hands for quiet. "I know you are all worried about getting on with your lives. Anyone with immediate medical or medication issues, please raise your hand so we can get you to the infirmary."

A few timid hands were raised and those folks followed an E-1 out of the room.

"For everyone else, we are going to transport you to local hotels today. You will be more comfortable and we'll have more room for additional evacuees we know are coming in. If you'll gather your things, transport will be ready in twenty minutes…I'll make an announcement. Any questions?"

The sergeant answered inquiries about the cost of hotels and meals, availability of phones for those who needed to make calls, and where cigarettes could be had right away. He did not, as it happened, have change.

Grissom went to check on the sodden clothes and shoes he'd pulled off and hung in the men's locker room to dry the night before. Of course his phone rang when his arms were full, which made picking up difficult. Resting his bundle on a sink he caught it on the fourth ring.

"Grissom."

Sara's voice was so like home, he almost forgot where he was. "Hey, it's me…I'm about to go to bed and I didn't hear from you last night or this morning…everything OK?"

"Not exactly…" he started.

It didn't take long to explain what happened, and while Sara wisely refrained from saying 'I told you so' there was an unmistakable laugh tucked in with her words. He longed to kiss the smile he heard off her face, but had to settle for a voice full of promise requesting he stay put until the storm was over.

Which was not satisfying.

At all. 

xxx

"Welcome to The Oxford, Dr. Grissom. You'll be in room 143…a Victorian Deluxe. Here's your card key. If you take the elevator over there," pointed the young woman behind the registration desk, "you'll find your room to the right on the first floor. Do you need help with you luggage?"

Grissom shook his head. "No, thank you…but I would like to get a meal…is room service operating?"

"Yes, sir…we are short of personnel because of the snow storm, but the kitchen is fully staffed and if you'd like, McCormick's will be open for lunch and dinner today. There's an entrance through the lobby right by the elevators so you don't have to go outside."

"Good. I've been outside more than I'd like recently," he smiled and tramped off to find his room.

The Victorian Deluxe lived up to its name. There was an antique four poster bed complete with white eyelet bedding, as well as an entertainment center concealed in a large armoire and a cozy sitting area facing a decorative fireplace. The walls were a soft gold. Rich red and burgundy carpet and strategically placed accents held the little suite together like a hand tied bow.

His first thought when he took in the room was how much Sara would love it, which brought a frown to his face and a quick dumping of luggage so he could focus his mind elsewhere. _"I never should have left her…what was I thinking?"_

The shoes got toed off one at a time as he searched for the room service menu. Grissom wandered about paging through the selections even as he found the TV and remote, quickly clicking through to CNN._"More than 3 feet of snow fell in the Colorado mountains yesterday. Up to 18 inches fell in the Denver metro area. The storm also dumped up to a foot of snow in New Mexico, icing roads and closing schools. Long stretches of Interstates 70 and 25, the main east-west and north-south highways through Colorado, New Mexico, Utah and Wyoming, are closed, as well as Interstate 76 from Denver to Nebraska. We're expecting another six inches locally and no let up for at least two or three days."_

He hit the mute button and tossed the remote in the middle of the comforter. "Tell me something I don't know…" he murmured, plopping down on the edge of the bed. Finally deciding on brunch, Grissom picked up the phone and placed his order for wheat toast and a fruit plate.

That done, he was faced with an undefined amount of time and no way to fill it. The only thing he _wanted_ to do…get back home…was out of reach for the moment. _"Damn."_

**_Two Days Later_**

Gil Grissom was a scientist. He relied on empirical data. If there was a question in his mind, he would test a hypothesis until he either answered his question or led himself to another set of questions.

No matter how much they talked, he had to see Sara with his own eyes. When he saw the forgiveness in her eyes and her smile, he would know…empirically…that she loved him and that everything was going to be OK. Until that happened, no amount of reassurance could fill the hole in his gut.

Spending three extra days on the road…going precisely nowhere…had wound him up tighter than a cheap watch. He needed to move toward Las Vegas. Somehow.

"Hi there. I want to book a trip by rail. Local service is up and running? Good." Grissom had discovered the train station the first morning of his stay by looking out his window. It had taunted him with its closeness for two days until he finally broke down and called a ticket agent.

"I need to get from Denver to Las Vegas. Yes, as soon as possible. Oh, you don't…but you do route passengers through there? Tell me what you have…OK, so you go south to Raton, New Mexico. I change trains there and go to Kingman, Arizona and then…oh, the last leg is by bus? OK, the bus goes to MacCarran?"

Holding the phone steady with his chin, he made notes. "About how long does that take? Twenty one hours…I see." He debated his choices for a whole ten seconds. "Well, can I get a train out today? No? Why not? Oh…the New Mexico routes are not in service. Any guess whe…no, I understand. No one can predict the weather. Thanks anyway."

Who knew a note pad made such an efficient projectile? Grissom managed to knock over the bud vase on his room service tray with a not particularly well aimed shot.

"Dammit!"

The roads were still closed, train service was out and the Denver airport might take weeks to get sorted out. Gil Grissom wasn't going anywhere.

**_Another Two Days Later_**

Things sorted themselves out pretty quickly in downtown Denver. Once the streets and sidewalks were passable, Grissom was out exploring his immediate neighborhood. The Oxford is located roughly between Coors Field and the Pepsi Center, the beverage aspects of which he found fairly amusing. The Denver Mint was within a 20 block radius, as were the University of Colorado-Denver, Civic Center Park, the Colorado Convention Center, and the Denver Center Performing Arts Park.

Much closer to his temporary home were an excellent traditional Italian trattoria, Il Fornaio, which he frequented as much for the bakery and coffee as the tasty menu, and a wonderful, quirky bookstore, The Tattered Cover, on nearby 16th St.

As two days stretched into four, he developed a routine of talking with Sara when she got off shift, breakfast in the hotel, a walk around the block to The Tattered Cover which could stretch into hours as they encouraged patrons to read as much as they wished. When he got hungry, he'd have a late lunch at Il Fornaio and stroll back to the hotel. This left the afternoon and early evening perilously undefined.

What to do until it was time to call Sara when she got up for the day?

It wasn't that he didn't want to do the homework Joe Argyle had assigned them…in fact, he looked forward to every conversation now that they were consciously sharing things about themselves, their day, how they were feeling…it was a kind of undiscovered country Grissom always suspected couples inhabited but he had never traveled himself.

No, the problem was that he was pining for Sara. He didn't call it that, of course. He understood that he missed her and couldn't wait to see her. There was just something about the concept of longing for the love of his life that he couldn't quite name, at least, not in those terms. His scientist's mind did not easily embrace unquantifiable terms, nor those too heavy with feeling. Grissom was still working on his emotional vocabulary.

So the afternoons became dangerous territory. He'd already spent the mornings on Joe's recommended readings and done a fair amount of self-disclosure on the phone. When he rolled back into The Oxford, his nerves were jangling and nothing he did took the edge off.

"Daytime TV is a vast wasteland," he mumbled as he doggedly crawled around the dial. The shopping channels offered a brief respite. He'd bought some home health items he knew his mother would appreciate and he'd gotten a real jump on his Christmas shopping, not to mention the digital video camera, DVR, and two Tiffany-style lamps that would be waiting for him when he got home. _IF_ he ever got home.

The clock winked over to 4:00. The remote sailed across the room, coming in for a landing on the antique settee. A single-serving bottle of Wild Turkey made its way out of the mini bar and into a glass. Sipping his drink, Grissom picked up his phone and punched in a familiar number.

"Brass"

"Hi, Jim. It's Gil."

"Are you back? Sara said you were stuck in Denver…"

"Yeah, I'm _still_ stuck…seems like I'm never going to get out of here."

There was a long pause as Grissom savored contact with his friend and Brass tried to figure out what the fuck Gil Grissom was doing on the phone. It's not like he ever called to chat, for Christ's sake.

Brass glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 3:03 p.m. Well, he'd be getting up in four or five hours anyway. Still hearing nothing but silence, he sat up on the side of the bed. "So…Gil…what's up?"

Grissom paused a few moments longer before letting go. "Jim, I think I am going to lose my mind if I don't get out of here soon. I can deal with frustration, but being unable to get home…it's driving me crazy."

Brass pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, puzzled. "OK, what have you done with Gil Grissom? Is this a ransom call?"

Realizing how weird this was, Grissom smiled ruefully. "How much you got?"

"I'm low on cash, but I got a pint of Bushmill's in my desk at work…"

"Well, _if_ I ever get back to Las Vegas, I'll take you up on that…Look, Jim…I know it's odd, but I'm feeling very unsettled and you were the person I thought of."

Brass was sure the theme song from The Twilight Zone was playing somewhere in the house. "You're having a _feeling_ and you called _me_ to talk about it? Seriously, what have you done with the real Gil Grissom?"

Grissom was still anxious but saw the humor in the situation. "Yeah, yeah…it is weird. I can't believe I called you myself."

Brass got up and walked into the bathroom. Thinking better of getting more personal with Grissom than either of them was comfortable with, he poked his head back into the bedroom. "Look, hang on a minute, will ya?" Once he'd set the phone on the dresser next to the doorway, he went back into the john to take care of immediate business.

Several minutes later, business attended to and the shower running (because the hot water heater was on the other side of the house, dammit, and it took fucking forever to make it to the master bath), he picked up his cell again. "Sorry to keep you waitin'…I'm back…so, you're feeling unsettled…"

"_Very_ unsettled…" Grissom had already started to feel funny about this conversation. Brass's little absence made him consider hanging up and forgetting the whole thing, but he really did feel the need to talk with his friend. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm not sure what to say here."

Brass grinned, "I don't have all that many heart-to-hearts to draw on here…you know, ones where I was sober."

Just connecting with Brass felt good – like home. The hole in his gut didn't seem quite so empty. "Me either."

"As I recall, the last one I had with you, I was pretty drunk…think I said something about ripping your head off and taking a crap down your neck. I remember that because it was so poetic."

Uncomfortable, Grissom said, "I'm being good to her, Jim. As good as I know how and I hope, as good as she deserves."

Brass finally realized why his friend had called. "I believe you…wait 'til you see her. She's been beaming since you started home."

If words were a balm, the relief on his face reflected the healing in his heart. "She is? Really? She's doing OK?"

"Yeah, she is. I probably won't have to make good on my threat after all." Steam from the now hot shower had started to creep into the bedroom. Wanting to get in there to take advantage, Brass said, "Let me know when you get back…we'll toss back a few. All right?"

Grissom sighed happily. "Yeah, I'm all right…um…good, Jim…we'll do that…and thanks."  


xxx

Interstate highways around Denver reopened the next morning. The rental car company told him he'd have to pay the daily rate until the four wheel drive he'd been forced to abandon in Keenesburg was recovered, plus any damages caused by the weather. Apparently the liability policy he'd bought would not protect him under emergency conditions. Grissom was so happy to be on the road he didn't even have a 'fuck you, too' conversation with the rental agent. What was a few hundred bucks when he was on his way back to Sara? At least, he hoped it was only a few hundred bucks.

He ran into Mr. and Mrs. Harvey again while he was picking up his car. They were wearing matching brown sweat suits this time and still arguing merrily about their kids and their cats. It finally hit him what he'd been feeling the last time he'd seen them at the Armory…envy.

For all their squabbling, it was clear they loved and looked after one another. It had made him think of Sara and how much he wanted to share a life with her. He hoped their future wouldn't include matching velour sweat suits, but even if it did, as long as they were together, that would be OK.

He was somewhere west of Evergreen when he called Sara that day.

"Hey…it's me…I'm on the road." He was grinning so wide he could barely talk.

"That's great, Babe. How long do you think it'll take?" Sara yawned. She'd just gotten home and was pretty sleepy.

"Two days, tops. I'll be pulling in about the time you wake up on Saturday…" he purred.

She smiled, thinking about their reunion. "I can't wait…really…I can't wait, Griss."

"I love you, Sara. I'm so happy to be coming home to you at last."

Neither of them spoke for a bit, savoring their shared connection through the hundreds of miles of sky that separated them.

Grissom looked at his watch. "I now this sounds hokey, but I'm counting the hours until I see you again."

Sara recognized the love and need in his voice. Echoing it back to him, she sighed, "I'll be here."

**TBC...**

_**NOTE:** If you are following this story, you might want to add it to your alert list. The next chapter will be rated M, which will not show up on the 'Just In' page the day it's posted. Thanks!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the **worst** way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s **_13 Beers_**. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – And Then Some...Love **

"I knew that."

"You did not!" Sara huffed.

"Yes, I did," Grissom laughed over the phone. "Seriously…you're a fair skinned brunette. You keep up with it really well, but when you suddenly have a very blonde upper lip, I notice."

"Fine." She flopped back against the pillows of her bed. "You knew that," she tried to sound petulant but knew the smile on her face had transferred to her voice. She was enjoying this; they had come so far, done so much. This was the last night she would wake up without him, the last nightly phone call before she went to work and he went to bed. He would be home by the time she woke up tomorrow evening.

"So…" Grissom drew out the one syllable word playfully.

"So?" She bounced the word back to him like a verbal tennis ball, idly tracing the pattern of a green leaf on her sheets.

"So, Sara Sidle, tell me something I don't know…that's the exercise, isn't it?" His voice was gently teasing.

Joe's final "long distance" exercise had been to tell each other five embarrassing things the other didn't know. She'd heard about his mother discovering his Playboy collection, he'd heard about a foster brother tickling her so hard she had wet herself. Though embarrassing, nothing was too horrible or devastating and they both found a lot of the sting had been removed by the sympathy and light amusement of the one they loved.

Sara's final embarrassing item was a mustache that she bleached; well, she had thought that was the final item…evidently, not, since he already knew about it. "I can't think of anything else," she whined.

He made a derisive noise. "I refuse to believe I know every embarrassing thing about you." He sounded like he was enjoying himself far too much. "Out with it, Sara…"

She blew out a breath and tried to think of something.

He began humming the "Final Jeopardy" theme music and she laughed, "Stop!" She let her gaze wander around the room looking for inspiration.

"Come on, Sara…tell me a deeply humiliating secret," he cajoled. "Don't tell me you don't care enough about us, about our relationship…" he challenged in a laughing tone.

Her eyes fell on her nightstand. "I have a vibrator," she blurted, then slammed her eyes shut in embarrassment.

There was a pause from his end and she was fairly certain he was either covering the phone laughing at her or completely and totally repulsed. After what seemed an eternity, his husky growl of "You do?" assaulted her senses and she shifted from embarrassed to the beginnings of arousal.

She shouldn't have been surprised, really. It had been almost three weeks since she had seen him, longer than that since they had made love, her hurt pride and feelings prevented her from finding solace in his body before he left.

"Uh-huh," she breathed at him. They had talked and e-mailed the entire time he had been traveling, but the talk had, for the most part, been centered around learning and healing and reconnecting. Other than the occasional "The sex is great," the topic had not been broached as they worked through the larger issues.

"Really?" Oh, he was definitely not repulsed.

"Yes," she sighed, unable to stop her hand from sliding across the cool cotton of the t-shirt that covered her stomach, long fingers playing lightly over the material.

She heard him swallow. "Where…where is it?"

She closed her eyes and listened to him breathing. Louder, he was definitely breathing louder. "In my nightstand." She inhaled deeply and stated the obvious. "By my bed."

"Oh." His tone could make the sound a word or a low moan; she wasn't sure which it was. "I…before we were together, back when I thought I could never be with you…" he sighed. "I had this fantasy…about…I could never find a plausible way, but it was a fantasy, so it was ok," he was stumbling, but she could still hear the desire coating each word.

"Tell me your fantasy, Gris..."

And he did.

xxx

Later, as the harsh sounds of both their breathing were the only sounds carrying over the phones they both waited for their heartbeats to return to normal.

Finally, Grissom spoke in a thick voice, "I miss you so much."

She smiled to herself. "I miss you, too, Babe." She rubbed her cheek against the pillow, imagining it was his chest she rested against. "But we'll be together by this time tomorrow."

"Sara…" he whispered, as if broken. "I can't believe how close I came to losing you…" He sounded sadly sincere.

"We almost lost each other, Gris." She shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see. "I share the responsibility." She took a deep breath, "But we didn't. We're better now than we ever have been."

"I know." He still sounded slightly mournful and she smiled.

"Everything is going to be all right."

She was surprised by the vulnerable, childlike tone he used as he asked, "Promise?"

She hesitated very briefly before reassuring him without making a promise that would tempt fate. "Babe, I can't promise nothing will ever happen…but I can promise you I love you and I will do everything I can to make this work between us and I believe you when you say you will as well."

"I will." He sighed. "I just want to see your face. I want to look in your eyes and tell you I love you. I want to kiss you and hold you and make love to you." His voice deepened, "I want to make it all up to you, Sara. All of it. Not just the last few weeks…but…everything."

"I believe you, Gris, I do."

"Good." He sounded relieved and almost happy.

She glanced at the clock. "I hate to, but I've gotta go. Definitely can't skip a shower tonight." She was gratified to hear a light chuckle. "And you need to get some sleep. Not only do you have a full day of driving tomorrow, I have plans for your evening."

"Oh, so do I, Sara. So do I."

xxx

She found herself too excited to sleep the next morning even though she was tired. The night had been busy though, thankfully, not wrenching. It had, however, been physically demanding chasing the scent dogs as they followed some evidence on an Amber Alert victim that actually turned out to be a pawn in an alimony/child support squabble between her parents. Before the little girl was discovered at her mother's boyfriend's apartment, Sara and Greg had partially dismantled the father's car searching for evidence.

Though sore and exhausted she was way too giddy at the idea of Grissom's return to sleep. She tried at first, but realized rather quickly she was wound a little too tight to successfully succumb to slumber just then.

She had cleaned most of her apartment the day before, but had wanted to put fresh linens on closer to his arrival, so she got up and changed the sheets. She wandered around the apartment for a while, making sure everything looked nice. She knew they would eventually end up back at his townhouse; but for now, they both knew it was important for him to come to her.

Yawning, she decided she didn't want to put her dirty body between clean sheets. She had a leisurely bath with vanilla scented bubbles. She shampooed, conditioned, scrubbed, shaved and soaked. After opening the drain to release the bath water, she rinsed one final time in the shower. They said people got cleaner taking a bath than a shower…but she always wondered how since after a while it was the equivalent of sitting in dirty water. So, while she enjoyed a girlie bubble bath every now and then, she always ended with a last rinse in the shower.

Unfortunately, instead of relaxing her, the process invigorated her and she found herself wide awake again.

She passed some time answering e-mails; then she cleaned out her desk and rearranged some files. Television was disappointing at this time of day; she began catching up on the periodicals she had been neglecting.

Lunch was a salad eaten leaning against the kitchen counter in a loose tank top and her favorite pair of pajama pants, idly flipping through a copy of _Psychology Today_. As she washed her bowl she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her with some relief. She knew she needed to sleep…she wanted to be refreshed and rested when Grissom came through her door.

After brushing her teeth, she moved to the bedroom, set her alarm for about an hour before she anticipated his arrival and slid between the sheets, sighing at the feel of the cool cotton. They felt good against her skin, but couldn't even touch the memory of how good Grissom's skin felt. She smiled as she finally sank into sleep.

He was coming home to her.

xxx

She was dreaming about Grissom. Surrounded by his warmth, spooned against him, she could even smell him as he whispered in her ear, "Sara" in a softly honeyed voice.

She sighed in her sleep, relishing the feel of his arms around her, the feather light kiss on her cheek, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear. "Sara, Sweetheart."

Smiling, she snuggled back against the dream Grissom and realized dream Grissom had a boner the size of which dreams are made and she was not dreaming at all. Suddenly, she pulled out of his arms and out of the bed.

"Grissom," she breathed her eyes drinking him in. He had removed his shoes, but other than that, he was fully clothed, half curled around the spot where she had been sleeping just a moment ago.

"Hi," he smiled at her and she was pretty sure her stomach would henceforth be located in the vicinity of her knees and her heart had permanently relocated to her throat.

He looked so…good.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. And she suddenly felt as though she was going to be sick.

She swallowed as her eyes watered. "You're early." First one tear, then another overflowed and rolled down her cheeks as he climbed off the bed and approached her.

"I woke up early and hit the road." He shrugged, still smiling as he moved towards her. "Also, I may have not been as strict about sticking to the speed limit as I should have been."

He was reaching for her when she bolted into the bathroom, calling, "I have to brush my teeth" behind her, trying not to see his startled expression.

She collapsed against the bathroom door briefly, overwhelmed by emotion. She found herself crying in earnest now. They had been through so much, almost lost each other. The last nineteen days had been a journey into Hell and back for their relationship and she found herself completely overcome with the magnitude of it.

"Sara?" She could hear the confusion in Grissom's voice through the door.

"Just a minute." She tried to make her voice strong but it wobbled anyway.

"Honey? Are you crying?" He sounded both anxious and concerned.

She drew in a shaky breath. "Maybe, a little."

"What's the matter, Sweetheart?" A pause. "Don't…don't you want me here?" Fear and pain and sadness all wrapped themselves around his words.

"Oh, god, no, Babe…I just," she swallowed so hard she was sure he would be able to hear it on the other side of the door. "I…think I'm nervous."

"Oh." She heard him touch the door. "Me, too."

"Really?" She was surprised he would admit it, but it made her feel better. She had not expected to feel this sudden anxiety…she only thought she would be happy. She turned and leaned her forehead against the door, touching the spot she had heard him touch on the other side.

"Yeah, I mean, it's pretty big, isn't it?" His voice sounded slightly more assured to her and she relaxed a little. "This…us…I know we both want it…and while the last couple of weeks have been really hard, it was just thinking and reading and some talking." She closed her eyes to better absorb the sound of his voice. "This is the real test. Being together, really being a part of each others' lives, being partners in the truest sense of the word."

She sighed. He did understand.

She heard him take a breath. "I want you to know, nothing is going to keep me from you but you, Sara. Not Ecklie or the Lab, or our age difference, or my tendency to bury myself in my work. Nothing, Sara. I love you." He paused briefly again. "I love you and I will never leave you again. I want us to be together forever."

She swiped at her cheeks and suppressed the sob his words had brought.

Tenderly, his voice came through the door again, "Sara? Honey? Are you all right?"

"I…I want those same things, too," her tone was a comforting promise.

She heard his relieved sigh. "Good…you want to come out now?"

Laughing, she replied, "I still need to brush my teeth."

He laughed, too. "OK. I'll be waiting."

Hurriedly, she shed the pajama bottoms and tank top and donned the pink satin nightgown she had hung on the back of the door earlier before grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste.

When she emerged from the bathroom he was sitting on the end of the bed. He had shed his jacket and she sighed at how good he looked in his jeans and the midnight blue golf shirt he wore.

His eyes widened at the sight of her in the short gown. "God, Sara, you're beautiful." He stood and slowly, as if afraid she might bolt again, he approached her. He slipped his arms around her waist and lightly kissed her temple, drawing her into a tender hug. She smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

They held there, absorbing the moment fully. Sara would have sworn her skin was sighing at the feel of his hands. He was lightly rubbing his cheek against her hair and she smiled when he inhaled deeply, knowing he was breathing in the scent of her, the way she was breathing in the scent of him.

After a few minutes, he began gently swaying with her body in his arms, dancing with her gently as he began humming, then singing, softly, in her ear.

_Are the stars out tonight?  
I don't know if its cloudy or bright  
cause I only have eyes for you, dear  
The moon may be high  
But I can't see a thing in the sky  
cause I only have eyes for you_

He pulled back and looked into her eyes as he continued to move his body with her in his arms, swaying them both in a romantic dance, his beautiful voice providing the music.

_I don't know if we're in a garden  
Or on a crowded avenue  
You are here, so am I  
Maybe millions of people go by  
But they all disappear from view  
And I only have eyes for you_

Her lashes were wet again by the time he was finished with his sweet serenade. Her lips trembled. "I…no one has ever sung to me before."

He shrugged as he continued holding her. "That song was on the CD that got me the littering ticket in middle America." He turned his head and placed a kiss on her arm where it rested on his shoulder. "It reminded me of you…how I feel about you…" he shrugged, "I wanted you to know." He gave her a warm, shy smile and then moved in to gently brush his lips against hers.

The kiss was a tender caress, full of love and acceptance and it made them both sigh. He pulled back after a moment and waited for her to open her eyes and meet his gaze. He looked into her rich brown eyes, seeing the love, forgiveness and hope he had needed so desperately to see there. He reached up and cupped her face in both his hands, stroking his thumbs over her face. "I love you, Sara."

For the third time in fifteen minutes Sara felt herself tear up. "I love you, too."

He touched his lips softly to hers, again. "Will you say my name?"

She smiled tremulously at him, "I love you, Gil."

He let out a relieved breath and kissed her again.

One kiss melted into another. Two delicate kisses became four intense kisses. The pressing of lips became the stroke of tongues. His hands left her face and ran up and down the silky material of the gown she was wearing, grasping her bottom through one kiss, cupping the weight of a breast through another. For her part, Sara was intent on getting as much of his skin in contact with hers as possible. Her hands wandered the plane of his back stroking over the skin over and over, alternately sighing and moaning through the tactile caress.

When he released her lips, she grasped the hem of his shirt and tugged it up and when he raised his arms she pulled it over his head. Her hands began stroking down his chest as her mouth latched onto his earlobe sucking it into her mouth and running her tongue around it. His low needy moan caused a jolt of desire straight through her body, a coiled spasm of heat settling low in her belly. She kissed her way down his neck while he continued to stroke his hands down her back and squeeze her ass. He moved lower, snaking his hands under the gown, expecting to find more silk beneath it, instead, he found only the silk of warm, bare skin.

"Sara," his moan was filled with desire and need as her tongue slithered down his chest and her mouth latched onto his nipple causing him to moan even louder. His hands stroked over her naked ass and moved around the front of her body, cupping her, dipping into her.

"Mmmm, yes," she gasped out. "Want you." She unhooked his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. "Want you in me." The rasp of the zipper joined their panting breaths filling the air of the room.

He stepped out of his pants and underwear as soon as she pushed them low enough and she devoured him with her eyes. She had forgotten just how impressive aroused Grissom was.

He was magnificent. He was hers. And she wanted him, now.

She let out a small shriek as he lifted her suddenly and placed her tenderly on the bed.

He lay down on his side, propping his head on his hand and studied her with a serious expression.

"What?" she asked; she could not stop smiling.

He shook his head as he stroked his hand lightly down her arm. "Nothing. I just need to look at you for a minute." He intertwined his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

She understood. When he left she thought it was the beginning of the end and now she knew they were each other's future. She had been glad he was gone in the beginning when she thought she was going to have to live without him, but even then she had missed him every moment of every day. If he had missed her half as much…she shuddered to think of him in that much pain.

His hand lightly touched her face, brushing butterfly soft against her cheek, her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. "I don't want to have another day in my life where I go without seeing your face."

"I feel the same way," she whispered.

He nodded. "Good to know we're on the same page." His fingers traced down her neck and arms as he spoke. "At first, I missed you. Missed your face and your body and your voice. Missed kissing you and making love to you." He swallowed hard, but his hand continued the sensual caressing journey over her limbs, then across her stomach, sliding along the silky material as he rubbed her belly. "Then after I talked to Brass, I realized what a complete and utter ass I'd been…not just about the sabbatical…but about everything."

He leaned down to kiss her shoulder with a press of his lips and a stroke of his tongue. "When I realized I might lose you and I probably deserved to, it scared me like nothing has ever scared me before, Sara." His hand moved up to cup her breast and rub her hardened nipple through the material. Sara let out a low moan.

"Then I thought about everything I'd miss for the rest of my life if I lost you…not just your body…but your heart and your mind and your laugh. God, when I thought I might never hear your laugh again…" he closed his eyes against the painful thought.

Grissom continued to caress her breasts as he rolled onto her body and buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good." He nestled against her, then kissed her at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Love the way you smell." He licked his way up her neck, "Love the way you taste."

He lightly nipped her earlobe, then traced the whorls of her ear with his tongue, pressing himself against her. The hardened, heated flesh of his erection pushing into her stomach elicited a keening groan from Sara as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth.

"Gil…please…" she took his face in her hands and looked at him with wide desperate eyes. He saw the same love and need he felt for her reflected back at him in her heated gaze. He groaned, claiming her mouth in a scorching kiss that she devoured as her right. Tongues rubbed together as one hand caressed her breast through the nightgown, while the other stroked her folds beneath it. Her hands reached for him.

He kissed his way down the shimmering material of the gown, one hand stroking her. When he reached the edge of the short skirt, he grabbed it between his teeth and folded it back to expose her to his gaze. Lovingly, he pulled back to study her laid out before him. Her eyes were half closed, her nipples were straining against the fabric, her chest was rising and falling rapidly with her breaths.

He lowered his head and breathed her in. God, he had missed her. The touch of her, the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her. He nuzzled her, savoring the sight and smell of her.

Her legs fell open further even as she gasped out, "Please, Gil, please. I want you…I want you in me, now." She sounded as if she were near to tears.

He moved back up her body, pausing long enough to lick one of her hardened nipples through the shiny material of the night dress. He sucked the nipple into his mouth, silk and all, causing her to cry out in an agony of erotic pleasure. "Gil, please…" she keened.

He raised himself to her and nestled his body between her thighs. She could feel him brushing against her as he looked into her eyes.

Instead of thrusting into her immediately, he rested there and lowered his lips to hers. "I love you, Sara," he whispered against her and kissed her again. She could taste herself and him and everything felt like wet heat to her, everything tasted like joy and completion.

They both sighed.

He held there, resting his forehead against hers, then lightly kissing each eyelid, each cheek and softly, her lips. "Missed you," he whispered.

She felt his breath against her face as her hands traversed the plane of his back and the contours of his ass, her fingers greedy for the familiar territory. Her hands tingled, rubbed, grasped and caressed. It was a tactile feast for her starving flesh, a banquet for her soul.

"Tell me," he moaned through clenched teeth, wanting to savor the moment but fighting the primitive need to pound into her until they were both screaming out their release.

"Love you," she moaned out, closing her eyes. "Missed you."

"Sara," he felt sweat begin to bead on his forehead, "look at me, Sweetheart."

She opened her eyes and met his azure gaze.

It was all there, all of it; everything he had been afraid to show her before, his love for her, his need for her, all of it, right there shining through for her to see. No walls, no barriers, no secrets…just love. And there was no reason to say anything else, it was all there.

She reached a hand to him and gently caressed his cheek. Shyly, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the pulse point in her wrist.

Gently, lovingly, with passion and promises their bodies and souls sought completion together.

Later, as he tried to move off of her but she held him in place, slowly stroking her hands up and down his back as their sweat slickened bodies cooled and their breathing and heartbeats regulated. Grissom was pressing kisses into the crook of her neck, murmuring unintelligible endearments and words of love.

Despite her protests he rolled off of her, but pulled her immediately against his body, into his embrace. "I love you," he kissed the top of her head.

She turned her face against him and kissed him where she lay. "I love you, too."

He sighed, deeply and held her tighter. "I know you do, Sara. Thank you."

Giving a small, slightly confused laugh she snuggled closer, "For what?"

"Thank you for loving me." He kissed her hair again.

She smiled against him. "Well, you're most welcome. I am going to love you forever."

"Not to be competitive here," his voice was playful, "but I am going to love you forever. And then some."

**TBC...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us owns _CSI_ or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the **worst** way.

**A/N:** This story is a sequel to _mingsmommy_'s **_13 Beers_**. This story is a collaborative effort between _dreamsofhim_ and _mingsmommy_. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on **GeekFiction**. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.

* * *

**Epilogue – And Then Some...More Beer**

Brass had already shed the suit in favor of jeans and a soft cotton blue button-down shirt. He was currently contemplating the contents of his refrigerator, vacillating between fixing himself an omelet or heating up some leftover lasagna. He was going to have to get used to fending for himself for his after work meal again since his breakfast companion of the last few weeks was definitely occupied with other things in her life.

He grinned to himself at the thought. Sara had returned to work the previous night after three nights off with a spring in her step and a smile on her face. Of course, he wasn't the only one who had noticed and most of the team had remarked about her good mood on their way to a robbery at a pharmaceutical warehouse. She had only smiled wider.

When Greg had teased her about a new boyfriend, Brass had been unable to stop a smirk from forming. She'd thrown Brass an outrageous wink as she countered, "I don't have a _new_ boyfriend." Sara had calmly gone back to lifting prints while Greg had turned to him with a look of incredulous speculation.

Brass had given him a Mona Lisa smile and a raised eyebrow for his trouble.

He hadn't seen Grissom yet, but from the few words he'd been able to exchange privately with Sara he knew he was not only home, but well and they were both happy. Brass was glad to hear his old friend had decided to continue with his "sabbatical" and not return to work early. Sara was trying to wrangle some of her vacation time, but Catherine was being a bit of a pill about it. The detective was going to give Sara a day or two to work it out with the blond, but if she was unsuccessful, he had plans to step in and help Catherine see the light.

He pulled out the lasagna and shut the fridge; as he was transferring the pasta to a microwave safe plate his doorbell chimed. Sucking some stray marinara from his thumb, he crossed to the front door and opened it to find a six pack of beer at eye level with a smiling Gil Grissom behind it. Brass snorted at the sight. "Returning prodigals bearing gifts are good, bearing beer is even better." He took the six pack from his friend and looked over his shoulder, "Where's Sara?" He noted his empty driveway. "Where's your car?"

Grissom made his way into the house and followed Brass to the kitchen. "Sara had errands to run. She has the car. I, however, have a six pack of Arrogant Bastard..." He watched Brass pulling the 20 oz. bottle out of the carrier, "...make that 'had.'" He finished as Brass put the dark bottles in the fridge.

When he was down to one, he took a frosted glass out of the freezer. Bottle open, pouring with a practiced hand, Jim looked at his guest with a smile and an inclination of his head. "The Wild Turkey is in that cabinet next to the stove."

Returning Brass's smile, Gil held up both hands from his spot leaning against the sink. "No thanks...throwing up a whole night's drinking in an airport trash can has soured me on bourbon."

"Ouch." When Jim had a proper head on his beer, he set the half empty bottle on the counter.

Grissom mused, "Not one of my better moments."

Jim raised his glass slightly. "You want one of these? I have plenty..."

"Yeah, I would...thanks."

"No, my friend, thank you," the detective answered, nearly gleeful as he pulled another frosted glass from the freezer and another ale from the fridge. "Glad to see you made it home safely." He smirked at the younger man as he poured. "It sounds as if you've had quite the Odyssey." He handed Grissom the beer.

"Well, I doubt airport lock-downs, littering and snowstorms were quite what Homer had in mind; but sometimes the odds I was going to make it home felt a little worse than Ulysses's." Grissom smiled at his old friend.

Brass nodded in understanding and raised his glass, "Well, then, a toast to your safe return and to those that waited for you."

Grissom touched the rim of his glass to his friend's and said softly, "To Sara."

They both drank. Then there was a brief, awkward silence. Finally, Brass looked at the younger man and shrugged. "She seemed really good...you know, happy, last night." He shook his head and motioned for Grissom to follow him into the living room.

The scientist settled on the black leather sofa and Brass slipped easily into the matching chair; it was obviously his usual place, but he didn't relax back into it. He sat forward, forearms braced on his thighs, glass held lightly between his thumb and second finger, chewing his cheek. When he spoke, his voice was not unkind. "Gil, you've been my friend since I got here. I know you're a good man." He brought his glass to his lips and sipped, half surprised the other man was allowing him this lecture. "I know you've been working things out while you've been traveling. But," he shrugged, "don't make it one of those things you do just to keep from losing her...she deserves for you to do your best all the time."

Gil was about to take a sip, but thought better of it and eased forward on the couch, placing his glass on the table in front of him. "Doing my best all the time...I hadn't thought of it that way."

Brass waited for him to go on. After a moment, Grissom came back from wherever he'd gone. "I'm good at what I do, Jim. My work has been the most important thing in my life...well, all my life. I don't 'try' to do my best...I just do it...always."

Noting the puzzled expression on his friend's face, he went on. "When I fell in love with Sara...years ago...I put everything about her in a mental box. Now that we're together...I keep forgetting to think outside the box."

The detective shook his head. "Not sure I'm following you there, Buddy."

Grissom warmed to the idea that was finally taking shape in his head. "Even though we're a couple, I've kept our relationship separate from the rest of my life...compartmentalized. When I left Sara to go on sabbatical...it didn't even occur to me how much I would hurt her. She wasn't a part of the process I used to make my decision."

Brass gave a loud, derisive snort. "Sheesh. Can't imagine why she was upset by that." He took another sip of his beer and continued in a dry, flat tone. "Why in the world would she want to kick you to the curb for that?" He shook his head again, mournfully. "Asshat." But it was said without rancor, more with a disbelieving, distant affection.

To his credit, Grissom reddened with embarrassment. "It was a horrible mistake...once I realized...Jesus, Brass...I really hurt her."

"Ya think?" The older man's voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. But then he caught the grieved look on Grissom's face and he sighed. "But that's what you've been working on right? What all of the soul searching and talking has been about? De-compartmentalizing and really sharing your life?" At Grissom's nod, Brass continued. "I know she gets it...that it's work. I think you get that too, right?"

Gil nodded. "I do...and Brass, thank you for looking out for her. I should have been the one doing that, but I screwed it up."

Brass tipped his glass toward Grissom. "As long as you realize that and are moving forward, saying anything else is beating a dead horse." He took a deep drink from his beer and nodded in satisfaction. "As long as you're treating her OK...not any of my business." He grinned sheepishly. "Not really my business at any time, but, you know, I do stick my nose in...I care an awful lot about that girl, Gil."

"I know, Brass. And I'm grateful she has such a good friend. I couldn't ask for a better one for her." They drank in comfortable silence for awhile. Grissom seemed far away, staring into his beer, still working out something in his head. Finally, he turned questioning eyes to his old friend. "Have you ever seen something suddenly...something that was right in front of you...that you've somehow managed to deny?"

"Yeah...coupla times actually." He shrugged. "Looked around one day, suddenly saw my kid wasn't my kid; not too much later I realized just as suddenly it didn't matter if I was the sperm donor or not...she was still my daughter." He chewed on his lip, thoughtfully. "I realized, out of the blue, years later, when it was too late, my ex and I could have done better if we hadn't been so busy blaming each other."

Grissom nodded his understanding. "That night after you ripped me a new one, I went to a local pub and got stinking drunk...woke up hours later half on the bed, still wearing my coat." Making a face in his almost empty glass, he set it down and went on. "I was still drunk but I knew I had to go home. Not to Las Vegas or my house. No, I had to come back to Sara. She is my home."

Grissom stood and walked around the living room; he couldn't sit still. "It took all of that...leaving her, wounding her, being away from her, you jumping all over my ass and quite a lot of bourbon, to make me see that without her, everything I'd worked for for so many years was meaningless. I could lose it all, but if I had her, well...that would be living. Does this make sense?"

"Yeah," Brass nodded, solemnly, "yeah, it does." He sighed. "That's all I need to know." He pointed a finger in his friend's direction, "And it's all you need to remember." He drained his beer. "I'm getting another one; you ready for a refill?"

"Sure."

While Brass was knocking around the kitchen, Grissom studied the museum of Jim's life. There were awards and citations going back to his early days on the force in New Jersey, some sports memorabilia, a few knick knacks and photographs.

The pictures spanned at least thirty years. Grissom smiled at the image of a fresh faced Jim Brass with a full, thick head of hair. There were several pictures of Ellie at various ages and stages ranging from a fresh faced four year old to a sullen teenager. He knew that complicated relationship had caused his friend a lot of pain, so the sight of a ceramic picture frame with the declaration "World's Best Dad" had him half smiling as he picked it up from the shelf. But the picture in the frame stopped him cold.

There was a smiling Jim Brass with his arm slung in careless affection around the shoulders of a beaming Sara Sidle. Gil recognized the scene, a Christmas gathering at Catherine's house. He remembered being aggravated because he couldn't openly spend the evening as Sara's date and how Brass had attached himself to Sara after an inebriated Greg had resumed his open pursuit of the brunette. He realized now Brass had been protecting Greg from his wrath as much as he had been acting as a buffer for Sara.

Slowly, he turned the frame around and found a card tucked carefully into the back. "I am fortunate enough to be able to choose my family. You are a great Dad. Love always, Sara"

Brass reentered the living room and brought Grissom his beer. "Dad?"

The detective blushed lightly and shrugged. "I'll take it. Who wouldn't?"

Grissom raised his glass. "I'm glad, Jim. She deserves someone who'll look out for her. Like when her boyfriend leaves town suddenly and breaks her heart."

Their toast was warm. "To Sara."

xxx

Brass had always enjoyed Grissom's company; they connected in a way that was unusual for Brass. But he had never found himself so thoroughly amused by the scientist. He laughed at the stories of the cross country trek that offered Grissom so many challenges.

"So there I was at Logan, hung over...trying to navigate with a splitting head. Some idiot jumped security and they locked down the whole airport. All I wanted to was to get on a plane, close my eyes and maybe have some hair of the dog. Instead I ended up facing security and a suspicious little old lady." Grissom drained his beer and looked expectantly at Brass, who filled his glass again.

"When I left Williams, all I had was my laptop and the clothes I stood up in. Even with the windows open, the smell finally got to me." Chuckling at the memory that was funny only now, he remembered the anxiety that had driven him then and a shadow crossed his face. He took a breath and drank half the beer. "I made a midnight run through Wal-Mart and bought everything...shoes, shirts...underwear...you should have seen the look on the face of the check out girl. I was rank." He quirked an eyebrow at the detective. "Didn't do a lot for the 'world famous doctor of entomology's' ego to be coming out on the losing end of the opinion of a third shift Wal-Mart cashier."

Brass had heard the bare bones of the story from Sara but with none of the rich, ironic detail Grissom was spinning the story with. He laughed so hard tears leaked out of his eyes at the thought of the proper Gil Grissom being mocked by an entire CD and getting a ticket for littering. As Gil was described the old couple with matching velour track suits and a pair of obviously spoiled cats, Brass could barely hear the knock at the door over his own laughter. When he finally heard the increasing volume of the knock, he called out without bothering to rise, "Come in," and then smiled as Sara came through his front door.

"Hey, Doll!" He called with a slightly tipsy grin.

The young woman grinned back. "Brass, are you getting my boyfriend drunk?"

"Nope," the detective said easily as he watched Grissom capture Sara's hand and pull her down to sit next to him; he pulled her so close she was practically sitting on him. "He's getting me drunk." Brass grinned even wider when Grissom, seemingly without thought or embarrassment, put his arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on her temple.

Sara's lips quivered in a smirk as her eyebrows rose. "I see." She turned to the man beside her. "Is this true, Griss?"

"Absolutely. I'm trying to soften him up..." he grinned, focusing his attention on Brass.

"I see," Sara pretended to contemplate the surety of Grissom's response. "Softening him up for the discussion?"

Brass's eyes narrowed. "What discussion?"

Grissom tilted his head and eyed Sara, much amused. "Sara?"

Unable to repress a laugh any longer, she stared right back at Gil. "Grissom?"

"Discussion?" Brass barked. "Nobody said anything to me about a discussion." He stabbed a finger in the air in Sara's general direction. "It better not involve me sitting on the floor and contemplating life's mysteries, because now that your boyfriend's back, those days are over."

Sara laughed. "No floor."

Brass blew out a gusty sigh. "Good. From here on out, I am only contemplating the questions of the universe from the comfort of a chair." He considered. "Or the occasional bar stool."

"Fair enough," Sara nodded at him.

One of Gil's eyebrows quirked up. "Yeah, Nick told me all about your deep thoughts, Jim...but no...no floor and I don't think there's much mystery in the discussion except what your answer will be," Grissom teased.

"Answer? Answer to what?" The detective was somewhat confused by the back and forth, but primarily unconcerned because of the lightness between his two companions. He decided to play along. "Can't you two make any moves forward in this relationship without me?"

Sara swigged the last of Grissom's beer. Taking the glass from her, he feigned innocence of the question in the air and asked, "Would you like a beer? Brass, are there any left or did we drink them all?"

"Funny, Honey," she bumped her shoulder against Grissom's. "Me joining in your beer fest is not on the agenda. We came to ask Brass a question."

"Yeah, Gil," Jim waggled his eyebrows. "Ask me a question."

Belching yeastily and instantly coloring slightly, Grissom looked at Sara. "Your question..."

"Well that was charming," Sara nudged him again. "Lose all of your manners in Massachusetts?"

"What question?" Brass interjected.

"No, dear," Grissom responded to Sara. "Excuse me, dear."

"What question?" Brass repeated.

"Really, Gil, you have the best manners of anyone I know and one beer with Brass..."

"Hello? Question?" The detective tried to insinuate himself back in the conversation.

"It was a very large beer," Grissom defended sheepishly.

"Somebody," Brass growled loudly and impatiently, "better ask me something...now."

Sara heaved a dramatic sigh. "Well, all right, fine." She threaded the fingers of her right hand through the fingers of Grissom's left hand. "We wanted to ask you...well, we can't come to an agreement on an issue and we needed you to make the decision for us."

He looked from Sara to Grissom. "So, OK, go on...what do I need to decide? Color scheme for the curtains? Your place or his? Boxers or briefs?"

Sara extended her left hand and asked, "Give me away..."

"Or be my best man?" Gil pulled her close and smiled at her like she was the only light in the room. After a moment, he looked at Brass. "We can't decide and neither of us will give in."

The smile that spread over Brass's craggy features was a thing of beauty. "You..." he stared for a minute at the sapphire and diamond platinum ring glinting on her finger. "You..." he grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the couch into a huge hug. "Sara." He pulled back and studied her face, his hands resting on her shoulders. "You sure you're up for spending the rest of your life with this guy?"

The beaming look she gave him was all the answer he needed. She shrugged. "Well, it was either him or you and you never asked."

He hugged her again, before reaching over to shake Grissom's hand vigorously. "When are you doing this?"

Sara stepped back into the circle of Grissom's arms. "As soon as you make a decision."

"Let me get my shoes," Brass nodded.

Grissom grabbed Brass's arm, "Wait...wait...we need your decision first!"

"No, you don't." He looked down at himself. "I should probably change, too. Is it just me? Or are you going to invite everyone else?"

Turning to Sara, Grissom asked, "I know we weren't planning on _today_, but...shall we? We can call the others from the car..." He glanced at Brass, grinning, "You'll have to call Ecklie, though."

"Done." Brass laughed as he headed back to his bedroom.

"Gil..." Sara's trembling fingers touched her lips, then touched his. "Are you sure?"

His kissed the tips of her fingers lightly, then her lips. When he was done, he gazed at her as she slowly opened her eyes. "I'm sure...are you ready?"

She looked at the man she loved, at the light in his eyes she knew was a reflection of the joy in her own. "Yes." She rested her forehead against his. "I'm ready for our life to begin."

Grissom nodded, "All right, let's get started."

It was different for both of them...the idea of doing something so big, so spontaneously. Somehow, though, it just seemed right.

And it was.

**FIN**


End file.
